I don't talk much about Chronic Clinical Depression. I tend to focus on Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome because they are lesser known, and horribly misunderstood. In fact, my hope is that my mention of those diseases will contribute, just a little, to the fight to get them recognized and understood.
However, I also suffer from Chronic Clinical Depression. I knew something wasn't right as far back as age 10 or 11. I can not get happy. What others call happy, for me, is mild mania. I was just born with my wires zinging when they should zapping. I suffered through many years of sadness, thoughts of suicide...and being told that I had no right to feel either. Of course, humor became my coping mechanism. So, who'd a thunk I was so miserable underneath all that good stand-up?
At the age of 25, after two breakdowns, and my mother finally being scared shitless one time too many, my doctor was called--he called me at work to tell me to get my sad-ass self to see him. They even worked me into the branch office on that very day. I was clinically depressed, I was told, and sorely lacking in B-Vitamins. I can't recall the anti-depressant I was put on, but I remember the B vitamins kicking in, and feeling like I was walking on air! I take them religiously to this day.
I have been on dozens of different anti-depressant, anti-anxiety, anti-psychotic meds in the 25 years since. I can only recall a few, and I suppose it's because they are the ones that did not work for me. I also started seeing a counselor. That poor first guy. I remember he had brown/red curly hair and wore clogs.
My visits with him were, at first, accusations that he didn't really want to sit there and listen to me, he just wanted my money. So, there were several silent sessions. I think what broke the ice was a recurring dream I'd been having about being a cheerleader and trying to climb some stairs at a beach place or something. Once I'd voiced my dream and he explained the symbolism, the dream never...ever returned. I became a fan. I read self-help books, more and more able to identify myself in them. And then he moved on. I was furious. There were the abandonment issues all over again.
I saw many counselors over the years. Each had their own style. Some pissed me off at every session. Strangely, the one that pissed me off the most was the one that helped me reach my "rock bottom". Once there, the healing could begin. And I did heal some. With the introduction of Prozac, in 1990 or so, I felt...like me. Or like I always thought I should be, but for some reason couldn't quite reach. I was funny again, and bright. I felt good about myself, and the hard journey I'd travelled to get to to that place. And Prozac worked wonders...for about six years. And that state started creeping in again. "The Nothing", as it was called in "The Neverending Story". But, by now, I was a wife and a mother to a six yr old, and a newborn.
When it started to crash down again, I was referred to a psycho pharmacologist. This was a man licensed to use me as a guinea pig, to find the right combination of medications to get me "even". I am still seeing this man. I am very fortunate that what little insurance I have covers part of his fee. We have tried many drugs in many combinations to combat the sadness, the weariness, the "nothing", the lack of sleep, and the Fibromyalgia/CFIDS, Not an easy task for either of us. He has proclaimed me to be one of his most frustrating patients, something that makes me proud. I mean if you're going to go through all the pain and suffering, you may as well be the best at it! As of this day, our combination is working.....
.....Or is it? For months I have felt flat-line. Nothing gives me pleasure, or interests me, or motivates me. I feel the same in nearly every situation. I am very tired. Yes, tired...on top of the usual fatigue. Don't get me wrong. I feel grateful each and every day, for each and every day. I praise God for the roof over my head and any food in the house. I cherish every conversation I have with my son. But, it's all in this, I don't know...null...place. I think it's guinea pig time again.
The struggles of someone fighting depression are often seen as laziness, not giving a damn, not working hard enough, not caring about their kids, their spouse. People, tired of the "drama" demand you pick yourself up and brush yourself off and move on. Boot straps are a popular suggestion. Think happy thoughts. Smile at people. Volunteer your time. Some of these are helpful suggestions. But, if you are in that abyss that is depression, none of it matters a whit.
For years and years no one spoke of the person who was "just not right". Through the years the topic has been addressed in movies, sitcoms, TV dramas, and soap operas. And yet, a stigma remains. I truly hope that at some point I can get the DVD, "No Kidding, Me Too!". It is a project of Joey Pants (Pantelioni), who has suffered for many years. In it, stars like Harrison Ford and Mike Wallace relay their own struggles. Mr. Pants hopes to further raise awareness on this widespread disease.
Depression is all around us. It comes in many forms, many ages, has many origins, and many solutions. Right now I am back on the hamster wheel looking for something to bring me above null. I know it's out there, cause I've seen others display it. In the meantime, I'll cry over minor things, become overwhelmed easily, and feel completely alone, all the time knowing that my psycopharmy and I can kick it again.
So, bear with me world. Better yet...give me a hug!
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