My Depression

 I'd like to talk about my depression.  There have to be some ground rules, though.  Most of all, you have to promise not to worry about me.  If I can talk about it and write about it, I'm in a pretty good and stable spot.  This isn't some sort of cry for help. Depression is much more common than you may know, and I feel there's something to be gained by honestly telling the story.

 My current diagnosis is Persistent Depressive Disorder, also known as Dysthymia.  As far as depression goes, this is about in the middle.  I'm in no immediate danger and have no need for hospitalization or heavy medication, but I cannot shrug it off quickly.

Some of you have known about my condition as long as I have.  Others have suspected it for at least as long.  It's not something I'm ashamed of.  Perhaps it made me anti-social for long periods and kept me from reaching my potential sometimes, but I've managed it, and I've endured it, and it's a part of me.

If you're on my list, you've known and loved people who died from depression.  Part of me would like to say their names, but I don't think I have to, and they may not have wanted me to.  When I talk to other depressed people, their greatest fear and regret is that their condition might hurt or worry the people they love.  I want to write about this for the people who survived a loved one lost to depression to help them understand what happened.  

Those you know who may have died from depression--know that they loved you profoundly and regret whatever wound their suffering may cause you.  While I've never been in danger of active suicide, there were periods when it was pretty obvious I was trying to accomplish the same thing slowly by self-neglect.  I may have bad days still, but the long stretches of self-neglect are over.

When I was about ten years old, my parents were concerned I wasn't reaching my potential academically and had me tested.  By "having me tested," I mean my mother did the work, and my dad paid the bills.  

Besides a comprehensive physical exam, including hearing and vision, a woman came to my school and set up a battery of psychological and educational tests in the cafeteria.

I had perfect visual acuity (thanks, uncle Ben) and mild tinnitus.  The other tests showed I had a high IQ but pretty aggressive dyslexia and dyscalculia.  To this day, I can invert words and numbers on occasion.  (Thank God for Grammarly) 

As for the psychological part of the test, they just said I was very shy.  Well, duh. I never really knew it was that weird to hide from other kids.  Many of the people I love the most are even shyer than I.  

Even though I suffered from dyslexia, I still managed to love reading by starting with comic books.  They made it possible for me to wade into the deeper waters of reading and develop skills to help me organize blocks of text so I could comprehend them despite my dyslexia. 

When I was fourteen, my older brother was having some pretty severe problems, so they had me tested again.  This time the diagnosis was anxiety and depression.  I began seeing Doug Draper, who treated me for over thirty years.  Doug was never able to "cure" me, but he managed to keep me alive and help me develop many of the coping strategies I use today.  

With his guidance, I was able to escape some of the destructive behaviors many depressed people resort to, except for smoking (which I did eventually beat on my own, cold turkey), and bad diet, which I also ultimately defeated, even if I did it with a rash and irresponsible technique.

Depression often made it difficult or impossible for me to escape painful or abusive or hopeless situations.  More often than not, my response to these was to become anti-social once the crisis was past.  Sometimes these reclusive periods would get pretty severe.  The worst lasted almost fourteen years.  

Sometimes people worried that my lack of interaction meant they did something wrong or I didn't love them anymore.  That was never the case.  Isolation was my means of healing, not a judgment.  It wasn't wasted time either.  I read, I studied, and I kept my mind active and challenged.

You will encounter other people who suffer from depression.  While it can be harrowing and sometimes even fatal, depression is most times treatable.  Most importantly, remember that whatever the depressed person is going through, it's not your fault.  It's also not their fault either.  

Drugs and alcohol make depression much, much worse.  It's nearly impossible to treat depression and addiction at the same time.  Try and guide depressed people away from any recreational drugs.  There is no such thing as a safe recreational drug where depression is involved.  

Love them and just as important, know that they love you.  Your depressed loved one would snap out of it if they could, and it's not your fault if they can't.  Most people eventually survive and learn to cope with depression, so do not give up hope.  If you're suffering from depression, be patient with yourself. Take your time but don't give up. Seek help and believe there is light on the other side.