"Depression Lies"

I didn't intend to start off this thing with such an intensely personal post, in all honesty, even though that's what blogs are about: we shout our thoughts into the vastness of cyberspace figuring someone, somewhere might give a flying monkey's ass about what we have to say.  Usually those thoughts are triggered by something, whether it's something as mundane as "GO LOCAL SPORTS TEAM!"/"I had a great poop this morning"/"Hey lookit what I just read", or something more substantive such as an unexpected spiritual occurrence, epiphany, or massively important life event.

For me, it was the realization that I have, in fact, fallen into a depression.

This is not an uncommon occurrence for me.  I was diagnosed with depression and generalized anxiety disorder (GAD) after the death of my father some six years ago, and the consensus is that his extended illness and death are what finally kicked the depression into gear for me.  It really was no surprise given that he suffered severely for many, many years with bipolar depression that he self-medicated but allowed to go untreated nearly until it was too late.  Dad was majorly suicidal.  He wasn't truly happy for a very long time, and suicide was his go-to plan.  Toward the end of his life, when his illnesses had finally gotten the best of him, he would try again ... but he was surrounded by a number of loving people, and, quite frankly, his "attempts" were, well, pretty hilarious because his grip on reality was nowhere to be found.

I digress.  This is about me, not Dad.

Since I was diagnosed and began treatment, my mental health overall has gotten better -- the fact that I'd been working on a lot of the underlying issues for a long time prior to therapy helped -- but I still fall into these pits periodically.  Sometimes I see it on my own and try to make changes; but more often than not, it takes someone or something else to point out to me that my behavior is off.  This time, it was Marc noting that I've been seeming distant, for lack of better shorthand.  Disengaged.  When he said it, there went the lightbulb, because that was how I've been feeling for the last week and a half or so: disengaged from everything.  Separate.  Angry.  Sad.  Like nothing I did really truly mattered, and no one I knew really truly cared about my welfare and that I was all alone.  My dreams have been angry.  In waking life, I've allowed myself to withdraw into Tony Stark mode: snarky, argumentative and fully immersed in what's going on in my own head to the detriment of everyone around me, and to myself. In dreams, I'm struggling to come to grips with a need for a deeper connection to family that will never really be able to be fulfilled, as well as to the people I love.

This morning, I'm still feeling sad and disengaged and angry, but two words are lodged in my brain that weren't there before: "Depression Lies."  I have WHil WHeaton to thank for that, as I'd gone back and read this post of his from a couple weeks ago: http://wilwheaton.net/2012/09/depression-lies/.  My depression tells me that no one really wants me to be integrated into their lives, and that I'm supposed to go it alone as much as I can.  I need look no further than my left hand to find evidence to the contrary, let alone photos and kind words and good memories, but depression has a way of twisting even the most positive things into something other than what they are.  It whispers, coldly, that the evidence is false, always has been too, and puts a chill on my soul.  It suggests that maybe everyone would be better off if they didn't have me around, that maybe I should "go somewhere else".  It seduces with the comfortableness of anger, martyrdom and self-pity.  But it's a big, fat, stinking liar from Liarsburg that slips into my heart when I'm not looking, and the gods know I haven't been looking.

What does depression offer, really?  It is comfortable, I will say that.  I guess I've gotten used to it over the years.  I spent a lot of time isolated and alone when I was coming up for a lot of reasons, so I know what that feels like.  It's much, much easier to stay in my shell and listen to what it says.  I don't have to make any effort that way, I can just be pissed off because no one else is saving me from myself.  It's the warm, calm, soothing Lethe, drifting through my heart and slowly taking me with it into the convenient complacency of forgetfulness.  The problem comes in when the water starts to get cold, and I'm suddenly very far away from what my heart still vaguely remembers: love, friendship, serenity, the truths of my life.

The water's gotten cold, and once again Mnemosyne calls.  My heart is still confused by it all, because it's hard to hear Her over the believable lies.  At least I know they're lies now, and that's something.

One of the wonderful things about the Intarwebs is that there are lots of folks out there who feel more comfortable sharing their experiences and telling their stories.  It's one of the things I've always appreciated about the Rooms, but the global nature of the 'net takes the experience from limited face-to-face contact to the connection of many like-minded individuals saying, "Here's what happened to me.  Here's what I'm going through.  Here's what helps."  It's a lot easier to find something to connect to and hold on.

So, here's what happened to me.  Here's what I'm going through.  Here's what helps: remembering that depression does, in fact, lie, and lie loudly and strongly.