77: The Magic Number of Talking Outloud
You know how you are going along in life, and maybe there are a few bumps in the road, but in general you are pretty sure that you are managing and everything is okay? Then, one morning after realizing that you haven’t done much or really even moved in a few days you start to wonder if that’s really true? After all, how does one identify that they have become depressed?
Depression is pretty much a fact of life in my family. Not to mention anxiety and other threats to one’s mental well being. One of my family members is fairly regularly hospitalized for her bipolar disorder. This is just on my mother’s side of the family. I don’t really know my father’s family, but lets just say they have “issues.” And really, who doesn’t? I am under no delusions that I am special or unique — at least not in relation to how I feel. Everyone gets sad. Everyone has problems. Everyone has hurdles they need to jump over. The severity, I have discovered, is really and truly relative. If it feels bad, it feels bad. There are no contests about who has the most dire situation.
Anyway, despite all my training, all my tools, this particular ghost had been slowly creeping back into my life for awhile, until one day a week or two ago I said to myself, “Self, you are exhibiting signs of depression. You lack motivation. You cry. All the time. About everything. The critic is throwing a party in your brain pretty much 24 hours a day. You are overwhelmed at the thought of dealing with people and returning e-mails and phone calls seems a Sissyphaen task.” “Hmmm,” I thought. “I guess I must be depressed.” I told Mr. Knittiot about my new discovery and suddenly I saw the lines of strain around his eyes, the exhaustion, the concern. Apparantly I wasn’t the only one to have noticed.
One of the things I commonly do (as do most people dealing with depression) is hide. There is this feeling that what you are experiencing is a shameful thing. A secret. Not something you want everyone to know, or at least not just anyone. I suppose the rationale behind such behavior is that depression is something I have done wrong, something that is my fault. I have failed at being happy. Tell me, why does blame so insistently shove its weasely little head in any corner it can find? And, of course, this game of hide the elephant only serves to reinforce these destructive emotions.
So, I decided to tell people. Just a few people. People who would understand. And the response has been surprising. They don’t react to me as if I have the plague or as though I were a great big whiney baby. They listen, toss out a few bits of advice they have found helpful and in general just accept me as I am. There is concern. There is understanding. This forces me to a point where I must admit that I am fortunate to be loved and cared for by a great many people. A tender, healing balm if ever there was one.
A friend (to whom I am eternally grateful, not just for this, but for many other moments of inspiration) recommended a book she had recently discovered. I immediately went out and picked up a copy. At the beginning of the book is a self-evaluation that rates the severity of your depression on a scale of 0 to 100. I have taken this thing I can’t tell you how many times. And yet I was shocked at the end to tally up the score and discover this — 77.
After the initial jolt of seeing that number staring back at me from the page, I felt an immediate and tremendous wave of relief. Relief because I thought what was going on with me was fairly mild, and I had come to the conclustion that if this was mild discomfort, I didn’t know how I was going to keep going on with this life, because it was just too much. Yeah, self-awareness, perspective, these things pretty much flew out the window at some point along the way.
77, it turns out, is quite the magical number. Now there are plans and actions and steps to be taken and performed. Some of them I am already working on. Others may take time, but are nevertheless in progress on some level. I am comforted by the approaching autumn. Such a hopeful time of year for me.
I realize that for the last couple of months I have very nearly dropped off the face of the planet as far as my blog is concerned. While I am not sure how regular I will be about posting, I do know that I have missed writing for the blog and want it to be a regular part of my life again. I suspect it may be one of those things that keeps me tethered to the ground. I also want you all to know that I really appreciate the kind notes and comments I have received from people who want to keep reading whether I’m writing about knitting or not. Anyway, that is my life in a nutshell. Hope you all are faring well.
September 29th, 2006 at 9:50 am
It’s nice to see you back, although I’m sorry you’re having to deal with this. I understand, being on this particular ride for about 3 years now myself. But with identification comes action, like you said, and the ability for others to support you and the ability for you to understand there’s no blame or guilt or sense of ‘less’ that should be felt, just a journey to begin to feeling better. Like all journeys, it’ll have its difficult times, but it will be worth it. I’m glad you’ve started. Good for you.
September 29th, 2006 at 9:58 am
Thank you so much for sharing your story with us. I too have been trying to figure out if I’m starting to slide back into that familiar state. (Either that or I am physically sick.)
Could you let us know what the book you found is?
September 29th, 2006 at 11:21 am
Glad to see you posting again, even if about this difficult subject. Sounds like you have turned a corner and I hope it gets better.
I was thinking about you the other day because one of my online homeschooling pals is in your state and REALLY interested in learning to spin, process fibre, etc. She has a 12 year old daughter who is also interested. She’s one of those people I’ve really clicked with and I thought that maybe you would be a good person for her to connect with to explore these things. Let me know when you are feeling up to that and I can put you in touch or let you know where her blog is or whatever.
Look after yourself.
September 29th, 2006 at 12:10 pm
I was just thinking about you the other day and wondering how you’ve been. The thought of all of our conversations popped into my head, along with the feeling of how much I miss them. It’s hard to find someone with as much perspective and insight as you, especially where I’m living.
I’m glad to hear you’ve still got the perspective enough to acknowledge what’s going on. I’m also glad Mr. Knittiot is with you, along with all the rest of your loving friends. Though I’m far away, I’m here for you too.
September 29th, 2006 at 2:01 pm
Thanks for sticking your head out. I’m also from a family with a big history of mental health trouble, and it’s a relief to remember that it’s not a unique problem. I’m glad you’re taking control of it, and I hope you feel better quickly. And I’m glad you have your guy and your sweet puppy dog there to help.
September 29th, 2006 at 10:47 pm
I’m sorry you’re going through this. My biggest problem with admitting that I am depressed is feeling that it’s something that I should be able to control on my own. I guess I feel like I should be able to eat the elephant without any help.
I would appreciate it if you could let us know what book you’re using. I think it’s about time to do something about my depression - again.
September 30th, 2006 at 8:15 am
I’ve missed you. It won’t surprise you to know that I’ve been through the same wringer, and the relief that dealing with it gives is palpable. I’m at that same door myself, trying to figure out what will best open it. I do know what keeps it slammed shut, and that’s silence. So glad to hear you’ve cleared that hurdle.
September 30th, 2006 at 8:18 am
Depression isn’t a character flaw. It’s a combination of neurochemical wiring and learned strategies. They are attacked successfully together, and I know you are smart enough to do that. Sounds like you already are. I’ve missed you and your writing, and am sorry to hear it is for dysphoric reasons.
September 30th, 2006 at 9:01 pm
Yep, I come from a long line of depressives. They all self-medicate with alcohol. After my oldest was born, I had post-partum depression which got bad enough that I sought treatment. After months of talk therapy, I went on Zoloft. I’ve since switched to Paxil. I have tried to discontinue the antidepressants, but when I do I start to feel the symptoms come back. So I’m getting used to the idea of staying on them, at least for the foreseeable future. Depression is a chemical imbalance and should be treated as such. I know it’s a trite analogy, but if people have diabetes, they don’t hesitate to seek help from their doctor, trying lifestyle changes and if necessary medication. Depression should be the same way. Good luck with this. And good on you for having the courage to speak out about it. More people need to hear that there is no shame in depression — just pain.
October 1st, 2006 at 11:23 am
Word. Depression is not a character flaw. Now that you have identified what’s going on you can deal with it. I often find that the change of seasons into fall dumps me into the Black Hole. It’s never easy to get out, but at least recognizing what’s happening you will stop digging it deeper. Love and light, dear.
October 3rd, 2006 at 11:03 am
Now I know why when I told you you were missed and asked after you ignored the comment.
Did you really think we might think less of you for struggling with your feelings? Nope. And now that you’ve outed yourself we will know better than to let you hide so much.
XX
October 3rd, 2006 at 6:02 pm
I found in my own struggle with depression one of the hardest things was the prejudice toward it from other people who have never experienced it. This made it very difficult for me to come to terms and admit to myself that, yes, what I’m feeling is indeed depression. Mr. Knittiot was rooming with us at the time, and truly, if not for him and his gentle concern and suggestions, I don’t know that I would’ve admitted it to myself. And I know about the hiding too, and how powerful that urge is when you’re feeling that way.
I’m glad you’re reaching out to your support network, and working towards recovery. My love and support is with you always.
October 7th, 2006 at 11:00 pm
Hooray, you’re back! I’m sorry to hear that the slow slide caught you, but on the other hand, I’m glad to hear that you have learned to catch it in the act by observing yourself. Self-observation has been my best tool, and I find that it’s basic to all the others and helps with both the depression and the anxiety.
You asked why “blame shoves its weasely little head in everywhere”. Thinking about it right now: I think my internal critic is based on having lived with criticism; when nobody else criticizes me, my habitual expectation of being criticized isn’t met, so a part of me pops up to fill the space, and overdoes it. I now firmly intend to develop an Internal Praiser. Thank you!
October 11th, 2006 at 2:58 pm
I just went through everything you described, and found myself in the office of a shrink saying, “WHY? Why does this happen to ME?”
He looked at me and very sincerely said, “with your family history, what made you EVER think you’d live off of anti-depressants?! Would you reisist wearing glasses if you were nearsighted?”
Changed my life.
I hope you continue on the upswing. It’s so much nicer on the other side (and your Mr. Knititot and my Mr. DH-of-wife-who-knits-too-much sound very similar…and wonderful).
Take care,
Heather
MamaOKnits.blogspot.com
Craftlit.blogspot.com
October 19th, 2006 at 8:35 pm
sweetie, i just burst into tears reading this. it’s wonderful to read the comments and realize i am in the company of some pretty inspiring people. it is so easy to hide from it and just say “i’m tired” or “i must be coming down with something”. kudos to you for being strong enough to realize what is going on. i’m glad you started writing again. thanks
December 20th, 2006 at 8:48 pm
I’ve been living with depression on and off for 30 years and in retrospect I think my mother was clinically depressed as well. It is only some comfort when my shrink tells me I have perfectly good reasons to be depressed (chronic painful disease) and that depression may actually be one of the symptoms of the disease. I too withdraw when depressed and try to catch myself before I retreat too far to see how to get out. Being active helps. Doing something, anything. Keep up the fight. On some days I can say it’s worth it.