Those whispers; they are probably the most wicked of tools used to destroy yourself. So many lies, and such hateful comments about you, and about the people who love you (do they?) Your mind would have you think that the boat you are in is built for one, and is on the most turbulent of water, and this boat is fuck-full of holes that you are constantly patching with self-sacrifice, ruinous acceptance, self-destruction, and isolation. In 30 years, you'd expect to somehow perfect the craft of depression - make it a slave instead of a master. The most clever of our depressed peers turned it into a muse, or drowned it out with external adoration, but if nothing else, depression is perhaps the most patient of diseases. Where most people accept that life is a series of days with varying degrees of wonderful to horrible, a depressed person struggles to get to acceptable every day while taking note of all of the hurdles to get there. It's very much like a filter exists around the brain, and everything passing through is scrutinized, torn apart, or rejected.
Who is that person for me? My oldest recollections are from childhood. Likely as a result of a very transient life, I had no friends, and if I did - they'd be gone from my life within a year or two. So, isolation and alienation were an attractive host for this disease. Quite inexplicably, I also developed a seething anger for social injustices, especially racially motivated ones. Where that came form, I simply don't know - but even at 5, I knew what the racially derogatory terms were and they made me angry enough to lash out. Having my face slapped as hard as an adult could do while driving a car, was clue enough that I was playing in a sandbox built for one.
I would have expected to grow up distrusting others, but instead, the opposite happened. Absolute blind faith and trust in strangers. The romantic notion of developing a bond with someone that was without words or conditions was a theme I didn't even question. And that blinding idiocy crafted a teenager with addiction issues, many shattered illusions, and anger fueled by a lifetime (all 15-18 years of it) of betrayal and isolation. Spoiler Alert: some things become old hat. I did start writing as a teen; plagiarized at first; but accolades from those works filled me with perhaps my first glimpse of being appreciated or recognized for something. Ninth grade, after our hundredth move, and sixth move to another state, I had my very first moment of positive reinforcement. I'll be honest, it's the one and only reason why it matters to me to be good at writing, or more specifically, to be TOLD I am good at writing. This too... becomes old hat. I go off to school - having loathed school, and expected the rest of my life was going to meet me there. It was a no-show, but in it's place, familiar friends arrived and we spent my early twenties setting fire to my future.
This is a period that encapsulates the worst of my capabilities and introduces new extensions to my amassing vices. Being unable to keep anything meaningful in my life, I recognize that idolatry can serve as proof of normalcy and so, keepsakes of a happy life supplement actual living of a happy life. Receipts, if you will, that something good happened today. It seems innocent enough, perhaps notable, until of course you only have those pieces of paper and everything else has long since been incinerated. Each memory as painful as a razor to the skin, serving the same purpose... to make you feel something... even if it's how much you hate yourself. With nothing else to appreciate about yourself, depression becomes your vanity.
Anyone worth their weight in salt in navigating depression learns and masters the most pernicious skill. Find someone who cares about you, and put all your energy, resources, and time into endless expressions of your affection and leave no avenues open for self-reflection, self-interest, or self-identity. Maybe you can be roommates with this person, or even marry them... because in your mind, this is what it's going to take to unlock happiness. If you can find someone wanting to spend their life with you, all of it will have been worth it and life will be meaningful and fulfilling and fuck, it's going to be awesome to be happy every day! While bleaching away your self-identity, and abandoning your self-interests, and eroding the reality for your partner that you are even a person anymore... you also manage to exhaust whatever energy your partner has in propping up the life crafted for two but you've built for one. More razor blades for the scrap-book no one is there to see or cares to see. More Old Hat. Wisdoms, like: "no one else can love you until you are able to love yourself", resonate like passages from Revelations... "this life is fucked. Scorched earth and an act of god are needed to set this path right, and I don't have enough respect for him to even address him with a capital G". We shrink and shrink into ever decreasing holes while navigating life to "survive". Many are too tired to navigate. Much too many choose not to.
Depression is something unique for everyone. Yes there's commonalities, but the insidious thing about a disease like depression is that it has had your entire lifetime to study from, and knows every single thought, fear, act, desire you have ever had... and it's task is to simply use you and all your experiences as it's toolkit to destroy you. If you think about this in a religious context - it could very much seem like the devil or possession - only something so powerful could torture you so perfectly.
I've hesitated in writing about this, and I've tried to imagine what my teenage self would think reading this. With so many high-profile, respectable people having lost to depression, and having our families devastated by it, the effort to see a horizon seems unrealistic. So, it's important to not only discuss my fears of fighting depression, but also that I know there are solutions.
Medications do exist that help. And no - they don't turn you into a different person. You will not lose your uniqueness or bounce of walls in an exuberance of life, or become a zombie. There's different levels of depression, and only someone trained in diagnosing depression can prescribe the best course forward. For me, it was a low-dosage anxiety medication that simply quieted the self-doubt voices and allowed me to speak in front of groups of people at work... something I was never able to do prior. It had sexual side-effects, so I found something else that didn't and it worked extremely well for a lot of years, despite some very difficult times. This experience proved to me, it may take a little work, but medication can balance out your moods and help with the self-destructive characteristics of depression.
The one thing I haven't personally explored is therapy. I do know however, it has helped people I trust and love. The ability to freely express emotions and feelings to someone who doesn't have "a card in the game" can help clear a path to healing.
The art of defeating depression isn't one thing. The effort is to getting your mind to focus on constructive thoughts instead of destructive. You have to accept that depression is a disease, and it needs to be treated as any disease would. Do you think any less of Robin Williams or Anthony Bourdain because we found out they struggled with depression? If their deaths have taught us anything, it's that the shame and stigma attached to admitting depression is a passe construct of a bygone era.
Not all depression leads to death. You, above anyone else, knows where your path is going. It's not my path, it's not Bourdain's path, it's not the path of the person you loved and lost while they traveled their path. Sometimes I have to fight to remind myself of my own values. I have no problem in looking at someone else and telling you what I admire about them. Looking inward is much harder, but much more important. I can do this:
- I'm reasonably intelligent despite being kicked out of college
- I know a little bit about a lot of things
- I have an obsessive amount of knowledge about Rozz Williams' career
- I'm on the right side of social equality
- I survive the worst days and sometimes find amazing days
- I have an aesthetic eye
- I've had 47 years of film, music and art to experience, and all of the emotions they've inspired
- I've shared joy with others
- I shared my life with a cat that lived for 21 years.
Take stock in the values you find in yourself. Also know that your experiences carry as much value as anyone's. I'm writing this in recognition of my own struggles and my own values... and I am no more equipped to do that than you are. Recognize that depression is a disease that there are treatments for, and you deserve to be helped as much as anyone else. If you feel shame in admitting that, recognize that the shame was put upon you by someone or something else and you don't have to accept that. If it's a person doing that to you - remove yourself from that person.
Be well and I will be too...
- Suicide Prevention Lifeline -- 1-800-273-TALK
- Trevor HelpLine / Suicide Prevention for LGBTQ+ Teens -- 1-866-488-7386
- Crisis Text Line -- Text HOME to 741741
- Gay & Lesbian National Hotline -- 1-888-THE-GLNH (1-888-843-4564)
- IMAlive -- online crisis chat
- National Runaway Safeline -- 1-800-RUNAWAY (chat available on website)
- Teenline -- 310-855-4673 or text TEEN to 839863 (teens helping teens)
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