TheBanyanTree: Contradictions

[Monique Young]

I’m a Depressive . . . And I’m Happy

 

Most of the time, anyway. By nature I’m a happy person, by chemical
imbalance I’m certain that I am doomed and unloved, and when these two
raison d'etres clash, I can be a nightmare to live and work with. When I’m
depressed, I forget how to communicate. I’m unproductive, unable to
concentrate, sleep fitfully, prone to panic, uncomfortable in my own skin,
and certain that others can see right through me to the rotten core. If you
were to ask me, during one of these times, what my good qualities were, I’d
be hard pressed to answer. I can’t think of any. Anything that might be
attributed as a positive quality I would brush off, saying, “Anyone can do
that, it’s nothing.” 

Medication keeps me sane, most of the time. Lately I’ve found myself
entering a deep dark pit, and pulling myself out of it is taking quite a bit
of my energy, so it’s time to go back to my doctor for a recheck on my meds.
Evil pharma is welcome to play with my brain, because the alternative is so
much worse. I keep the controversy surrounding psychiatric meds to a dull
background noise. I have a good friend who’s a Scientologist – she’d rather
I not take anything. I’d rather be myself, and remain functional, and this
is what has made that possible, and so we agree to disagree. 

Would therapy help? No doubt. I have issues, I’m scarred. Most of us are, if
we’ve managed to make it this far. In the past I’ve tried it, for times, on
and off, and it does help to understand where I’m coming from, but when I
had no health insurance therapy was one thing that was dropped off the list
of “things I must have.” Meds, on the other hand, had to keep going no
matter what – those close to me can tell when I have not taken them for a
day. The results are immediate and perhaps a bit disturbing. It helped that
I could get a generic for under $30 a month. I was tried on other meds,
expensive meds, but I wouldn’t pay for them because I didn’t have the money,
so they weren’t much help.

I’m very happily engaged to a wonderful guy, I have an excellent job that I
love, working with great people, I have many friends, and I even have some
family that likes me. (Family being one of those sore spots with me, as I’m
sure they think I’m just this weird chick who likes to embarrass them, as
evidenced by this.) I have many possibilities ahead of me. I have two great
dogs. I know I have nothing to be depressed about. 

I once overhead someone belaboring the issue of a depressed acquaintance.
“She has nothing to be depressed about!” As if we need something to latch
onto, as if the mere fact of our existence and our faulty brain chemistry
isn’t enough. It is enough. With those simple two issues working in our
favor, we can make a mountain out of a molehill, we can extrapolate to the
worst possible scenario, and we can convince ourselves there is nothing left
worth living for, when all evidence points to the contrary. That is our
reality.

I’ve done well with my recovery. I spent several years taking care of an
ex-husband who suffers severe mental illness. It was a difficult time that
left me financially impoverished and, yes, prone to panic, certain that my
life had nowhere to go, and those years spent doing little more than working
and taking care of him left me socially inept and an outsider, certain that
everywhere I went, I was regarded suspiciously because of my association
with mental illness. We’ve written a book about our experiences during that
time, and he’s now living with his parents in another state. He’s much
better now, thanks to evil pharma, and therapy, and so am I, but there are
some things I cannot escape from easily.

And I know I must get my meds rechecked and see if there’s something that
can be done about the recurrent episodes I have been finding myself in. If
it’s not fixed, I stand to lose everything, and I’ve worked so hard to get
to where I am. I consider myself quite fortunate at the same time I know
that the slightest misstep could end up being catastrophic (obviously,
reality doesn’t have much bearing on the situation). When I’m depressed, I’m
certain my job is short lived, and I’ll have to start over again doing
something else. I’m certain my friends only tolerate me, my family has no
opinion on me whatsoever, and that my wonderful fiancée would be far better
off without me. Of course, if I am unproductive and have difficulty
concentrating and stay deep in the pit, my job could indeed be in jeopardy.
The other things? Even while I think they’re true, I know they’re not, and I
know that by myself I am quite worthy of being alive, thank you very much,
but that’s a rational belief, and I am not, being human, always rational.

I am not a pessimist by nature. I’m often regarded as funny, or at least
amusing, and fairly intelligent. I don’t know how I appear to others, but
perhaps they do not see me as depressed, and so my mood swings, my sudden
quiet times when I try to avoid human contact (even though human contact is
what is most needed) seem so out of character. Perhaps, they think, (I
hope), she’s just distracted. I have a difficult time asking for help, and a
difficult time seeking help. I want to be self-sufficient, and ask for no
favors, mostly because, as I’ve grew up believing, I didn’t deserve
anything.

An appointment with my doctor is in order. The last time I saw him, over a
year ago, he kept repeating “it’s not your fault,” even though I wasn’t even
aware I was saying anything. Sometimes that’s what I need to hear, it helps
to reinforce that I am not defective, that some part of me has not been
taken over by the evil side of me that I try to ignore, but that everyone
else can see is there. I don’t have time for this depression. I have a life
to get on with.