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Thoughts on depression and anxiety
Nov. 26th, 2017 06:20 amI've thought on the subject of my mental state on many occasions. I'm ever amazed how difficult it is to really describe, explain, or understand. It's odd how it can be both normal and abnormal at the same time. Even in the midst of deep depression/anxiety, I always knew that something wasn't the way it was supposed to be. Yet, you live in any circumstance long enough and it becomes your normal. We're adaptable like that. But living in such is still living broken. It took me moving out on my own for the first time, after college, that it finally came to a head enough for me to do something about it.
I tend to describe my pre-medication and counseling condition as crippling. I honestly could have been considered disabled and gotten government aid for it, and had people like my grandmother advising me to do just that. I'm not sure if it was pride, or what, but I just couldn't make myself do it. Regardless, I know of what I speak when I talk about it. But even in my deepest, darkest moments, I found it quite difficult to explain to others. I always likened it to someone screaming into a megaphone in my ear that I was afraid.
It astounds me how much of my mental processes are so majorly affected by a simple lack of serotonin, the happy juice. How easy it becomes to, well, become stuck in a loop; an endless soundtrack of worry, fear, uncertainty, doubt, and the occasional terror. That's mostly just the anxiety part. The depression part is more a lack of energy and a "why bother" type of attitude.
I once had it explained that, in part, one of the things these do is to break our internal, emotional, and physical batteries and make sure they don't ever properly recharge. Basically, when depressed or anxious, we are perpetually running on emergency power, and it takes undo amounts of rest to regain even a small fraction of what most would consider normal function. I grew up what most would consider a rather extreme loner, and while part of that was because I really enjoyed reading or playing games on my own, much of it was due to necessity. I can't recall a single instance from around middle school through high school when I simply hung out at a friend's house. I usually had one best friend, and he would come over to my house fairly regularly to game, but even that grew rare in high school, when he went away to a boarding school.
Do you know how utterly alone one feels when you can't ever hang out with anyone? Of course, it became much more of a problem for me in college. I was way, way too anxious to want, or be able to, go away to college, so I went to my hometown college and lived at home. It did have the nice upside of being a hell of a lot cheaper, at least. I don't know why, but I was even too terrified to write the entrance essay. My mom had to go down there for me, and somehow helped get me in. Thankfully, my grades and ACT scores were excellent, so it wasn't like they didn't want me anyway. Man, I'm rambling...
I most vividly recall several instances in the last few years of college when several of my friends from my Young Life group got a house together and said I was free to come over any time. I don't know the precise reason for it, but an open invitation has always brought me stress and fear. I had to have things nailed down to remain in my comfort zone. But there were several times when I was out, or done with class, and wanted to go hang out, and had to internally fight and struggle just to swing by and see if anyone was home. I didn't have a cell phone yet (another cause for feeling a bit left out), so I had to just drive by. Several times, I would drive past the house, but would get so anxious that I just had to keep driving. Once I had to circle the block once or twice to work up the nerve. Other times, I would drive past and just go home. I remember crying afterwards, because it was just so difficult to do such an easy thing.
Mulling on it, I don't think anyone really knew how bad I was. Mom had an inkling, as I've always gone to her to talk, and she had to prod me to do things like get a job. But even with the few with which I spoke, I don't think many of them really understood just how bad I was. Over the years, I had managed to accumulate ways of coping that allowed me some semblance of normality. I probably just seemed to be a loner. I didn't stay up late, I wouldn't pull all-nighters, I didn't hang out much, etc. But boy was I hungry for people. I just couldn't handle them much, or for very long. One on one was always a lot easier. Felt less draining emotionally, for some reason. Get a dozen or two people all in the same room though, and I tend to go quiet and retreat a bit. Even when my meds are working fully, I still have difficulties with large groups or crowds.
I think it's an analytical thing. When your emotions are mostly negative, set to 11 on the megaphone, and you don't have the energy to deal with, or use, them, then you tend to sit back and analyze. Amusingly, it's what Vulcans do. When I have only one or two people to scan, it's easy for the mind to take in the data and deal accordingly. When it's a large crowd, with lots of voices all going at once, the brain can't parse it all, and can't seem to filter properly. There's no order of precedence, or something.
I tend to describe my pre-medication and counseling condition as crippling. I honestly could have been considered disabled and gotten government aid for it, and had people like my grandmother advising me to do just that. I'm not sure if it was pride, or what, but I just couldn't make myself do it. Regardless, I know of what I speak when I talk about it. But even in my deepest, darkest moments, I found it quite difficult to explain to others. I always likened it to someone screaming into a megaphone in my ear that I was afraid.
It astounds me how much of my mental processes are so majorly affected by a simple lack of serotonin, the happy juice. How easy it becomes to, well, become stuck in a loop; an endless soundtrack of worry, fear, uncertainty, doubt, and the occasional terror. That's mostly just the anxiety part. The depression part is more a lack of energy and a "why bother" type of attitude.
I once had it explained that, in part, one of the things these do is to break our internal, emotional, and physical batteries and make sure they don't ever properly recharge. Basically, when depressed or anxious, we are perpetually running on emergency power, and it takes undo amounts of rest to regain even a small fraction of what most would consider normal function. I grew up what most would consider a rather extreme loner, and while part of that was because I really enjoyed reading or playing games on my own, much of it was due to necessity. I can't recall a single instance from around middle school through high school when I simply hung out at a friend's house. I usually had one best friend, and he would come over to my house fairly regularly to game, but even that grew rare in high school, when he went away to a boarding school.
Do you know how utterly alone one feels when you can't ever hang out with anyone? Of course, it became much more of a problem for me in college. I was way, way too anxious to want, or be able to, go away to college, so I went to my hometown college and lived at home. It did have the nice upside of being a hell of a lot cheaper, at least. I don't know why, but I was even too terrified to write the entrance essay. My mom had to go down there for me, and somehow helped get me in. Thankfully, my grades and ACT scores were excellent, so it wasn't like they didn't want me anyway. Man, I'm rambling...
I most vividly recall several instances in the last few years of college when several of my friends from my Young Life group got a house together and said I was free to come over any time. I don't know the precise reason for it, but an open invitation has always brought me stress and fear. I had to have things nailed down to remain in my comfort zone. But there were several times when I was out, or done with class, and wanted to go hang out, and had to internally fight and struggle just to swing by and see if anyone was home. I didn't have a cell phone yet (another cause for feeling a bit left out), so I had to just drive by. Several times, I would drive past the house, but would get so anxious that I just had to keep driving. Once I had to circle the block once or twice to work up the nerve. Other times, I would drive past and just go home. I remember crying afterwards, because it was just so difficult to do such an easy thing.
Mulling on it, I don't think anyone really knew how bad I was. Mom had an inkling, as I've always gone to her to talk, and she had to prod me to do things like get a job. But even with the few with which I spoke, I don't think many of them really understood just how bad I was. Over the years, I had managed to accumulate ways of coping that allowed me some semblance of normality. I probably just seemed to be a loner. I didn't stay up late, I wouldn't pull all-nighters, I didn't hang out much, etc. But boy was I hungry for people. I just couldn't handle them much, or for very long. One on one was always a lot easier. Felt less draining emotionally, for some reason. Get a dozen or two people all in the same room though, and I tend to go quiet and retreat a bit. Even when my meds are working fully, I still have difficulties with large groups or crowds.
I think it's an analytical thing. When your emotions are mostly negative, set to 11 on the megaphone, and you don't have the energy to deal with, or use, them, then you tend to sit back and analyze. Amusingly, it's what Vulcans do. When I have only one or two people to scan, it's easy for the mind to take in the data and deal accordingly. When it's a large crowd, with lots of voices all going at once, the brain can't parse it all, and can't seem to filter properly. There's no order of precedence, or something.
