But I do have one stuck to me
I have this bothersome king-sized damp wool blanket draped over me daily. It’s never dry, though the amount of dampness varies. Some days it’s like a morning mist, gently laying on top. Other times it’s more akin to sopping up one of the great lakes. The range between the two covers just about everything. Sometimes it’s hot and other times frozen. This king-sized damp wool blanket, always wet, always itchy, is this misunderstood thing called depression.
Am I clinically correct in my description? Probably not. But what do I know? I don’t have any degree in that regard and the one I do have is outdated. Still, if it helps you to understand, then I’ll stick with my analogy.
Why am I depressed?
Well, isn’t that the $10,000 question? Or is it $100,000 now? Whatever it is, I can’t afford the answer. I guess it depends on how you define depression. Clinical depression, classified depression, chronic depression, mild depression, or whatever category you can think of, may or may not fit me. Again, I don’t know. I’m not a professional. I might have been told but fat chance of me remembering.
Anyway, lest I digress into the Pit of Carkoon, let me move on. Feeling “happy” isn’t a normal thing for me. At best, I’m moderate. Occasionally I’ll have a jolt of joyful excitation - much like a power surge that trips a breaker. And like the power outage, I fall deep into dark despair afterward. However, most of the time I’m functional and can get done what I need to get done. This week has been an exception.
I had a busy weekend. Class reunion, catching up with an old friend, spending some time with one of my sisters. Overall it was a great time. Lots of reconnections, laughs, and stories of days of old. I don’t much remember the two days after that and by Thursday, I was emotionally drained. The wool blanket became soaked. Try as I might, I had a difficult time under the weight.
I tried to think of the reasons I felt so down. There wasn’t a trigger though there were contributing factors. Like having such a busy weekend, unexpected expenditures without compensating income, and finding out my general income had been dramatically reduced. The combination of those, and other factors I don’t care to mention at this time, kept adding moisture to my blanket.
On top of that, I feel bad about feeling bad.
Neurodivergent Life is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
It could be worse
It’s something people say in an attempt to help you feel better. It might work if the person is just sad or a little down in the dumps. For people like me, it just makes me feel worse. What right do I have to complain when there are so many other people who are suffering far more than I am? How can I be depressed when I’ve got “so much going for me”? Instead of seeing “how good I’ve got it”, I see how selfish I’m being. What kind of horrible person am I to think that my situation is even worth considering?
It piles on from there and, if I don’t put a stop to it, buries me beneath a pile of king-sized sopping-wet wool blankets.
But…potential
There’s that word again. Potential. If you’re not familiar with my view on that, here’s an article that clues you in. Knowing I have the potential for so many things only reminds me that I’ve failed at all of them. Some I haven’t even tried because I “know” I’ll fail. Others I failed because I didn’t have the guidance or the right drive or the right discipline or any number of stubid stupid reasons. One thing I know for sure is that I’ve yet to live up to any of my potential. Discovering it was easy - happens all the time. Doing something with it that’s profitable?...
HAHAHA
Medication helps
Yes, I do advocate for proper medication in the proper doses for those who actually need it. I do not, however, agree with prescribing (self or by doctors) quick fixes. Medications aren’t a “way out” to avoid dealing with everyday life. They should be used to help regulate and allow a person to interact with day-to-day life successfully.
In my case, medication can be tricky. I become immune to pain medications after the first or second dose. I don’t mean that it affects me a little less each time. I mean by the second or third dose it does absolutely nothing. When it comes to psychological medications, that tolerance is a bit slower but it does happen. I think that might be what’s been going on with me the past few weeks. It’s becoming less and less effective. Or I could just be off my noggin.
Whatever the reasons, I’m less functional and feel less enthusiastic or motivated with each passing day. Some days I’ll get a temporary lift then sink back down again.
Not being a downer
I don’t share all of this for anyone to start feeling sorry for me. Pity parties are solo events. (That’s a joke.) I share this with you so you can know that if you’re going through the same thing, you are not the only one. Millions of people go through it every day and it doesn’t negate any of it. You have a battle to fight through. I have a battle to fight through. People we don’t know have battles to fight through. In a world where people compete for the trophy of Who’s Worse Off, we should be more understanding that my pain doesn’t make yours any less valid.
We all have our tough times and our good times. Most of us have learned not to share our hurt for fear of ridicule, pity, or having people turn their backs on us because we’re “so negative”. I try not to dwell in my personal swamp of sadness. Unlike Artax, I’m not going to get sucked into the muck. Sometimes I need help. Sometimes you need help. We shouldn’t be ashamed to share our stories, nor should we make our suffering our only story.
There is a lot of joy to be found. A lot of peace to experience. Those things don’t always mean happiness, but they will help you get through the dark storms of emotional turmoil.
