Last August, when Robin Williams decided(for whatever reason, and truthfully we'll never know because he didn't leave a note to tell us why---at least not one that the press could glom over) to end his life there was a resurgence of articles, news stories, and all over posts by people on their blogs, and on their Facebook, Twitter, and all other social media speaking of their sadness and confusion over this tragedy. As the story developed and it was made known that he struggled for years with clinical depression as well as alcohol, there were many people who said, or made promises to 'be there for anyone who was hurting' to be more understanding, to always be willing to listen.
It's November now. The weather is colder, the new school year is close to a third over.. Football and hockey season are in full swing, and dear god, it is a mere 52 days until Christmas.
And, as I predicted, the attention about the devastating effects of clinical depression have, for the most part faded away. I do understand why-sort of. It's not easy to talk about. Not many people want to talk about it. And, there is a lack of understanding about what depression actually is.
Unfortunately, 'depression' is a word that's bandied about easily. It's become a catch-all word for so many things that clinical depression is not.
Still, as a person who's lived with Major Depression-Recurrent for the past thirty-six years, it's troubling. Major, or clinical depression is different than---see, here's the tricky part---it's hard to explain without sounding like you're being condescending. It's a little more though than waking up on the wrong side of the bed, feeling blah, having the blues, having a bad day. It's a legitimate, physical problem. Your brain either doesn't make enough of certain mood elevating chemicals, or your neuro-receptors(and yeah, I know I've spelled that wrong) don't pick them up, or absorb them. I'll admit I'm not EXACTLY sure on all the technical reasons why I have what I have.
All I know is how it affects me. All I know is that over the past two months it's been a struggle to do anything.
-Get out of bed
-Eat
-Have interest in most of the things I love
-Be pleasant
People say, "But you were laughing the other day." Yeah. Every now and then something's funny. Rarely. Most days I can't find much to laugh at, except maybe myself. Which, believe me, I do.
And when I do force myself to get up, get out of my head and go out, I look decent. My hair's combed, I'm clean. Truly, if you didn't know me well, or I hadn't told you, there's a good chance you wouldn't know.
But I'm tired of feeling like I have to hide it.
When I do talk about it, most people avoid me like the plague. And I wonder, is it me, or is it who I am? Which of course is a question that does wonders for my self esteem.
Chris Martin whines his depressing lyrics and everyone wets their pants at his 'brilliance'.
Sylvia Plath wrote some of the most self indulgent self-pitying doggerel ever, and she's revered.
And there's Dylan Thomas, and Poe, and well Kurt Cobain--and Hemmingway. Oh, wait. They all offed themselves, didn't they. Yeah. ANYWAY.
*Sigh* I had a point when I started writing this.
The truth is over the past year my clinical depression has gotten worse. I've been on eight different meds, and none have worked. I have to wait until Dec 2nd, to see the shrink because the hospital where I go just went through a major reorganization.
And I'm lonely. I've lost friends because of this disease, and yeah, that is my fault.
And basically I'm just scared.
I know I'm better than this, and honestly, I just want myself back.
