Personal Interlude: Black Dog on a Leash (Living with Chronic Depression)
I am a disability-positive person. I see beauty in human diversity, and believe there is great value in the varieties of body and mind and the great wealth of experiences that ensue from those differences. That being said, I don’t always see disability through rose-colored glasses.
Depression, like chronic pain, like most chronic illness, is one of those disabilities that’s hard to live with no matter how well it is accommodated. In fact, depression is not only a chronic illness, but also a form of chronic pain. The weight that sits in my chest may be metaphorical, but the pain is real, and at times even physical.
Yes, it would be nice if I didn’t face stigma and misunderstanding, but in my own life, those problems have been relatively minor. At best, I might have been diagnosed and started medication a few years earlier. No one has ever really been cruel to me on account of my mental illness, and no one has ever taken my freedom or any other of my rights away because of it. In this, I know I am lucky.My battles are not the same ones that many disabled people face.
Depression makes it hard for me to accomplish things, have ambition, follow my dreams. It means I’m often years behind on things like routine doctor’s visits, and other things that adults are supposed to do regularly. It’s the reason I only have a B.S. at this point, not a PhD. It’s why I work part time for barely above minimum wage, and have always worked for far less than I am worth. I am lucky– very lucky!– that I have always had other resources to fall back on, and am not living in poverty. I am lucky I have not had to file for disability status– many of us with mental illness and chronic fatigue fall into the cracks in the system because we lack the energy to even do things like file the paperwork for the help we need.
But even if money arrived on a silver platter and doctor’s visits came right to my door, at least to some extent I would still be suffering, and not in a way that anyone could do anything to change. I do suffer– SUFFER– from depression. I use that terminology very deliberately. Depression hurts. Chronic fatigue hurts. They hurt most of the time. Sometimes they hurt almost unbearably. They grind me down, hold me down, wear me down. They make it a struggle to get up in the morning, to eat, to breathe– never mind things like keeping friends and finishing college. There are times– so many times– when all I can do is curl myself into a little ball around the pain and whimper. I lose a lot of time that way.
What to do? More medication? Different medication? Maybe. Each comes with its own side effects and risks, and not always obvious ones, either. A myriad of other suggestions– from polite to aggressive– beseige me constantly. They range from utter nonsense to pure common sense, from free and easy to massively expensive in money or time/energy. The one thing most of them have in common is that I lack the energy to even attempt them. At least here I’m in a holding pattern, treading water– maybe not doing well, but functioning at a level I can survive with. And that’s no small thing. I do fear losing that balance. As hard as I find life right now, I am living and breathing and moving forward. I may not be doing well, but I don’t think I could stand to be doing any worse.
All this being said, I live well with depression– really! A lot of it is luck– like I mentioned, I’ve never truly struggled financially, I have plenty of good friends, my life has been remarkably free of major tragedies and other situational causes for depression– and (believe it or not), my personality is a pretty happy one. It’s an odd combination, actually– I’m a fairly cheerful, optimistic, fun-loving, easy-laughing, moderately-positive-thinking, stop-and-smell-the-roses kind of person… who just happens to spend a lot of time in intense emotional pain over absolutely nothing at all. Depression is a really weird thing when you get right down to it. It made far more sense when I was an angsty teenager with no romantic prospects– being miserable, cynical, and bitter meshes well with clinical depression. At that point, I had no way to know I was suffering from an illness; it made sense to be unhappy. But having trouble getting up in the morning when you have a pretty awesome life is harder to understand, even when you’re the one experiencing it.
A doctor recently gave me one of those depression rating scales to fill out. Then, after talking to me, she said “You know, you have a pretty great attitude for someone who scored this high on the depression scale!” I laughed and told her “I’ve had a lot of practice.” And it’s true that the mental tools I’ve developed to help me cope make a huge difference. They don’t lessen the pain, but they allow me to keep going in spite of it. Many of them are simple practical tips– get enough sleep, eat every day, don’t make any major decision while feeling depressed– and others are more like mantras, things I wouldn’t accept anyone else saying to me but I need to hear– like “remember, your brain lies to you,” and “it’s only pain– it can’t actually kill you,” and “it won’t hurt any less if you give up and collapse, so just grit your teeth and keep going.” I suspect everyone’s the little phrases are different. Some of mine are pretty weird, too. But you tell yourself whatever you have to in order to keep going.
My body hurts. I’m tired, and tired of being in pain. I didn’t get nearly as much done today as I wanted to, although I did accomplish a fair amount. I’m not looking forward to going to bed because I know I’ll be even more tired in the morning. And I meant to spend this time catching up on writing book reviews, but oh well, I suppose I needed to write this too. I wish I had more time– no, more energy– energy in a day: the time is there, but I can’t use it.
And I can’t think of how to end this, so….