Saturday, August 18, 2012
Insidiousness
A post on depression has been fermenting in the back of my mind for quite awhile, but I’ve mostly been ignoring it, because, at some point, I feel like there’s not a damned thing I can say that I haven’t said many times before, so what’s the point?
But then I feel depression creeping in from the side, sinking its claws in, coming in under the cover of stress or grief or anxiety.
But that’s the thing, you see. How do I tease out depression from all these other things? How do I determine what is an acceptable reaction to events and what is depression being a big fat fucking liar?
As with Grandmom, I am going through periods of intense sadness. Stupid things will make me burst into tears. That, I am pretty certain, is grief.
But in between, I think, are the sneaky tendrils of depression.
I don’t just feel sad, but I also feel utterly alone. I feel as if it’s wrong for me to want to talk about my sadness and grief, that people just don’t want to hear it.
Or even worse, that I’m not eligible for my grief, that I’m not justified to feel so sad.
Part of that comes, of course, from the fact that I feel mortified by my own reactions. When we buried Grandmom, I knelt down to touch her coffin one last time and burst into uncontrollable sobbing. I could not stop myself from what felt like hysterical crying, not matter how hard I tried.
I felt like I was making a huge scene and hated every moment of that lost control just as much as I hated saying goodbye to her.
That’s just weakness, the darkness whispered.
So now, I struggle again, trying to understand why I feel this way.
Why do I not accept my own feelings as valid? Why does this sorrow make me feel like an imposter in my own mind?
Intellectually, I recognize this as my depression speaking. That my feelings are valid and my own reaction and no one–NO ONE–has the right to tell me I’m doing it wrong.
But I can’t stop myself from telling myself that.
Which really fucking SUCKS, let me tell you.
So I’m letting myself feel. And I’m being really damned careful about how much I rely upon pharmaceuticals–but that in and of it self is a Catch-22. Short sleep will kick-start a bout of depression, so I’ve been taking half doses of Tylenol-PM so I sleep, but then I worry that I shouldn’t be relying upon drugs to sleep, that it’s bad to take them, so I berate myself for my “weakness,” which of course makes me depressed.
That’s a fun game that can be played endlessly, let me tell you. (You may remember a similar game I played two years ago when I broke my ankle, over whether it was OK to take pain meds when I was hurting.)
So, we come back to the fact that I know depression is a fucking liar, but it’s like a horrible take on those gawd-awful horror movies–the lies are coming FROM INSIDE YOUR HEAD! If only I could run out of my head to get away. Or even grab a ball bat and beat the living hell out of the vicious invader.
But what I can do is try to keep myself honest. I’m allowed to have these feelings. And if I need to cry, I’m allowed to.
But I also have to remember to search out the joys that exist, and seek out the things that make me laugh. Because just as I am allowed to be sad, I am also allowed to laugh. And it’s my job to share light where I find it, to remind myself and others that we don’t live in the darkness, and even if I visit there, it’s not my home.
August 18th, 2012 at 11:54 pm
You are not alone in trying to decipher this conundrum. I’m worried about not feeling, or worse yet, expressing my despair and grief out loud where it can be criticized. I view it in my head same as you, always struggling against hearing how weak I am for not being able to control myself. I don’t know what the answer is but be assured you are not alone and I applaud you for sharing. Huge to you my friend.
August 19th, 2012 at 9:09 am
I feel as if it’s wrong for me to want to talk about my sadness and grief, that people just don’t want to hear it.
It’s not, and we do.
Or even worse, that I’m not eligible for my grief, that I’m not justified to feel so sad.
You are, dear friend – you are.
Love and love!
August 19th, 2012 at 1:29 pm
One of the things I admire most about you is your openness about depression.
And whatever you do, never believe you are not worthy of support or of acknowledging your weakness. We ALL have weakness and that’s why we all have friends and family who support us and need help too. Woven together in a brilliant tapestry. (And I’m one of the biggest individualists I know, so that’s saying something.
You are deeply loved, my dear, for many reasons but not least because you have the courage to love deeply.
August 19th, 2012 at 9:24 pm
It’s not a weakness, the people you lost are very close to you. It sucks when other people’s “stories they tell themselves” start intruding on our own. It’s been 30 years since I lost my grandfather and I sometimes still feel sad about it. You’re entitled to your grief. If you need a coupon, consider it given from all of us.
Big-D is opportunistic. It will use this time to try and sneak back in. It’s easier to say than to do, but don’t let it. That you can feel the edges is a good sign. It shows that you still feel the difference.
August 19th, 2012 at 10:25 pm
My dear Michelle – we are right there with you trying to figure out if we are okay with our grief or not. I think we all need to talk to someone that is willing to listen. From your friends posts, such as Janiece and others (me, included) you have that.
For me, life has been predicated around Ben being in our lives. Now I have to figure out what my life is without him and it is not a fun place to be. Kick, scream, cry, be angry – it’s all okay and part of the process. I don’t much like the process, but I know we all need to go through it. And you can talk with me about it. I love you very much!
August 20th, 2012 at 12:53 am
Michelle, I will kick Depression in the shin for you. I will apply a crowbar directly to that lying bastard’s knees because it has not earned the right to breathe the same air as you, let alone whisper falsehoods into your ear.
Unfortunately I can’t do that practically, but I can love and hug you from afar and let you know that you should never feel your grief is not valid and that you can’t talk to us about it. We love you. We are here for you. You are not weak. You are one of the strongest people I know and I admire you for that (amongst many other things).
August 20th, 2012 at 2:00 pm
I find this discussion fascinating re: strength vs. weakness.
As a militantly independent person, I regarded (perhaps still do) anything that required me to look outside myself or help as “weakness.” It took me a while to realize that it was OK to do this. That having a weakness (especially as it was often conditional or temporary) did not mean that I was not a strong person fundamentally, that acknowledging my weakness was an acknowledgement of my humanity. It could simply something I would notice or something I needed to address, not something to be despised. I essentially removed the negative connotation to weakness in my mind.
It seems that another way to address it is to reject the descriptor “weakness” when the thing described is good. For example, it’s not “weak” to need time to recover or to seek out help or to temporarily rely on medication to get you over a hump (points out the woman who has to take daily Aleve for knee pain in order to sleep at night).
I’m curious if someone in the latter mindframe could elaborate on that, as I find the distinction to be very interesting. Clearly the intent is the same — to provide support. Carol Elaine? Steve? Thoughts?