Depression is a strange thing. It was once called melancholia; a term that I feel is more appropriate and more accurately describes the illness and its symptoms. Most people think depression, or, any form of mental malady, is a clear sign of individual weakness.
Personally, I feel that I am affected by depression and anxiety attacks. Perhaps, they go hand in hand, but unless you have personally experienced them, there is almost no way to describe them in adequate way to ensure the fear, the darkness, hopeless and anger that is felt. It is not something I am ashamed of because I know that there is little I can do about it because I was born with it. Furthermore, the list of who are affected by this insidious illness includes celebrities, politicians, war heroes, clergy and millionaires. It is no respecter of rank.
Recently, Mike Wallace of CBS Television's 60 Minutes did a story on his own battle with depression. It was very personal and sad in some parts while triumphant in others. It showed something that every man and woman should know and that is human being also suffer metal illnesses and they are just as common as any other illness one might contract. The only difference is our perception of mental illness has not changed since the dark ages even though the advent of psychotherapy has started to change some of that as more and more people visit counselors and therapists on a regular basis. In Mike Wallace's story he confessed to having feelings of not feeling entirely sane. I know that feeling well. He also made several references to how his wife helped him. However, she also revealed how Mike Wallace eventually started to shut her out of his life and that she felt virtually helpless to do anything about it. I have been to the same place and have continued to have episodes.
Indeed, depression is my friend and my enemy. It takes away my life. I am no longer me. I become a thing. What thing, I do not know, but I am no longer the self that I know as me. I am empty. Just a shell. And, my focus is on me. I am looking for piece of magic that will make it all go away, but it did not. Finally, certain pharmaceuticals seemed to do the trick. A good portion of my life has been given back to me; a part that I did not even know was missing since it had been gone so long. It is a dreadful thing to be afraid of being alone. It is disconcerting to be sure of how one will react to any situation. When I was focused on my mental health, I was not focused any other place, but on myself.
I am usually nervous and feel a sense of helplessness, weakness and loss of confidence when it has come in the past. It makes you feel sorry for yourself. It seems as if the world is dropping its load upon your shoulders without your permission. It hurts. It is physical and mental pain. It brings on upset stomachs, headaches and strange sleeping habits.
Then there are the perceptions of being worthless and unworthy. Mike Wallace mentioned feeling that way often and I have also felt it. It like I had no control over anything in my life. The feelings of unworthiness are especially hard to fathom. Although many might consider me successful, I do not feel the same even though I have worked hard for everything I have accomplished. Somehow, it is not enough when gripped by depression. I feel unworthy.
I am still uncomfortable about many of the material things that I have. I feel that they belong to someone else-not me. I do not know why. If anything good came out of my discovery of this illness, it would be that I am no longer afraid of death. It is not that I want to leave this world anytime soon, but I know death for what it is and that is simply part of the cycle of life. I still think that those who leave this world are in many ways better off than those they leave behind.
Still, my life has been returned to me by prescribed pharmaceuticals. They allow me to function with a degree of normalcy that was not able before. I have recovered parts of my life such as, athletics, creative endeavors and some spiritual and intellectual awakening. Now I find that by making myself better I am more attuned to trying to help others make their lives better. Depression or melancholia is a part of my life and I do not think it is going away. I have looked over my family history to see if there is any evidence of this malady affecting anyone else in the family. So far, I have found nothing to indicate that is the case, but as with many things of this nature it would not be something that was discussed openly especially among the older generations unless it was obvious.
I live with this demon on a day to day basis. It is a demon. It attacks when I least expect it. It can dominate me, but I have learned to accept it and I have developed some tools for putting it back into its cage with minimum damage to myself. I have also learned that when it strikes that I do not have to become incapacitated.
This thing called depression is strange. It comes like a shadow. It makes no noise but you can feel its darkness as it settles on you. Occasionally, there are warnings but mostly it comes as an unwelcome surprise. It tires you out and makes you do things to accommodate it. It is not passive. It is aggressive. It wants to make you take action that will do you more harm than good. Sometimes, it disguises itself as good humor but that is its deceptive side. It can trick you. You never know for sure until it is there and has you in its grip.
For now, I have put it on my regimen. I have accepted that it will come, but I no longer dread it. I greet it like an old friend but whenever that old friend wants to take me in a direction I don't want to go, I ask it to leave. Sometimes, I am successful and sometimes I'm not. However, staying with my medication and therapy I have fewer and fewer visits from my nemesis.
Don