It Wears Me Out

"And if I could be
Who you wanted
All the time."

~Thom Yorke, Fake Plastic Trees

Believe me when I tell you that it honestly feels a little strange to actually, and whole heartedly want to write this down.

I experience clinical depression. And yes, sometimes that includes suffering from it. But I say 'experience' because I am not always suffering, yet I am to some degree constantly dealing with it.

I have never enjoyed the prospect of considering myself as "depressed". It has always felt like giving up to me, that it was the admission that made it true, and not that it was just an honest observation. The ubiquity of depression also made me feel like if I was depressed, that it would be hard to find understanding. How's that for a ridiculous, and completely ironic notion, eh? But it always made sense to me, because of how I felt: I was afraid people would just be sick and tired of dealing with the "depression world" because it was everywhere, and I didn't want to be a part of that for them. I didn't want to be something people were sick and tired of. So, I just denied it, kept it to myself, and kept on getting sick and tired myself, literally.

As I write now, I haven't had a solid night's sleep in about three months. I'm sure I've actually been earnestly engaged in battling depression for just over seven years now, since my brother had an accident that left him blind. I remember after that, there were a few weeks I was virtually unable to even get out of bed. Attempts to force me back out into the world provoked bouts of fairly severe shaking. They scared people, I know (me included). The physical toll is becoming very clear to me lately - I understand that people in their early twenties don't typically experience random flares of pain in their bodies for no discernable reason. Fortunately, I have had people who really love me in my life, from back then until this very present. When it causes me to lose perspective, they help re-convince me of how things are really okay.

I quote Max Ehrmann's 'Desiderata' a lot around here. I can't help it, it's just so perennially relevant, and resounding. The part I want to refer to now is "Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness." When I can't sleep, I'm afraid of being alone, so much that my mind starts to just run off with me, and it works so hard to convince me of how alone I am, and how alone I'm going to be. Because of how awful I am. And in those moments, it really is the best debater in the whole damn world. It's almost impossible to argue with all the reasons I am presented with which justify the conclusion that I am essentially just pure human waste.

For the record, these things are difficult to admit. I have caught myself in the relatively recent past avoiding even thinking some of the stuff I am writing here. Why? Well, because being someone who thinks like that, being someone who experiences depression, makes you a less than worthwhile person. Nice little cycle eh? But that's what I'm convinced is the truth when I go to that place. And like some damned Alice-in-Wonderland-esque fashion, the more I try to avoid that place, the more I keep ending up walking right back into it.

But I know, objectively and solidly in my heart, that those things are patently not the truth. And, as I'm getting older, it's becoming easier to remember that, even while that Mr. Hyde voice is telling me the exact opposite at the same time. I guess I have to call that progress. And I intend to continue in that vein, if I can (and I believe I can).

I know I'm able to write this now because I took a (very small) leap of faith. I talked to someone about it all. I usually avoid that because I'm afraid that they'll be afraid of what I'm experiencing, and that basically amounts to the belief that I am a harbinger of unpleasantness (to put it mildly). But, if I had absolutely no faith that I would instead get, not fear, but understanding, and even further, faith in me and my ability to rise above, I would never even bother trying. So, when I was able to talk about everything, from the lack of sleep all the way to what I've dubbed 'academic contemplations of my own suicide' (the scariest part, I think), and have my chosen confidant display no worry whatsoever, I'll tell you, it was reassuring. Solidifying.

But I think I'm coming to my lesson now. That was definitely a special, and powerful experience, but I can't, and shouldn't, expect it all the time. It's hypocritical, but more importantly, impeding, halting, and just cyclically wrong. It isolates me, keeping others from me, and me from others.

Depression can be... is, scary. It makes me afraid, and people are going to be afraid with/for me. There's no escaping that much. But, and get ready, 'cause there's a bottom line about to show up here:

It's gonna be alright.

When we can all know it, you, and me, and say it some of the time (when those moments where it doesn't seem so obvious roll around), even while still being afraid of it not being the case, then I think that's all we'll need.

I have another body of thoughts that's trying to get itself spelled out here, about my observed relationship (sometimes presented in the form of an accusation!) with things melancholy (seems to strike as something akin to having an affectionate relationship with a measles virus), but I think I've come to the main point of the moment already, and don't feel like I should, nor do I have the energy to, get tangential. This has been another step in dealing with my depression, and it will not be the last. I will have bad days ahead, but I'll have good ones, too. I may have to, in the name of honesty, consider myself as someone who experiences depression for a long time, maybe the rest of my life, but as long as I can keep progressing and not let it hold me back from the things that (and people who) are important, I think I can live with that.

Mad Virtue

This world is moving, so fast. It overwhelms the senses. And that experience often reaches the point where the very thing that should make us feel safe, and loved, is exactly what leaves us vulnerable, and terrified: what we share in common as human beings.

A touch of my own prejudice illustrates this problem. Part of me disdains this very writing, simply because it is a commentary on strife, broadcast anonymously into a public sphere. I am merely a drop in fluid motions, and the impossibility of purifying an ocean inspires only a loss for what to do, and ultimately the attempt of nothing.

Or almost nothing. I wouldn't write if I didn't at least have some faith, some belief that some moving, wonderfully shaping truth can be distilled from the effort.

What do we do with sorrow and tribulation? As I sit here now, I remember: To regard it, to think about it, is powerful, though I also understand that this could very well be a luxury for me that others do not have. Perhaps I am brave enough to talk about how I patently do not feel brave. And I am learning, that perhaps encouraging you, even imploring you to be brave, isn't always going to work.

I do so only because I know you deserve to feel that way, much the same as you would for me, I expect (or hope). I have held you, crying, many of you, thinking that that was the moment of fear (and bravery) that you needed to move into more bravery. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps you needed more. I am sorry if that was the case.

My fear is always a lack of faith. I see patterns in everything, and some of them can be distressing. My failure to believe in the very possible transformation of those patterns, I think, helps keep them locked where they are.

This is my failure. My pattern.

Please forgive me for it.

I will try to forgive myself.

"When people run in circles, it's a Mad World."

~Mad World, Tears for Fears

"...the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism."

~Desiderata, Max Ehrmann

If you do not say 'I love you', I will never know. And however much it may seem that I already know, or do not need to hear it, I assure you, I do. To a degree which I am often reluctant to admit to, I do. And perhaps it is ridiculous to think for even a minute that I could be above something like that. But I know, I'm not. I need heroes, too.

An Armchair Adventure

Okay, so not quite an armchair, more an office chair, but alliteration is much cooler.

I just read through the current complete content (hey, unintentional alliteration!) of the webcomic xkcd while listening to 'In Rainbows' by Radiohead. I won't begin to try describing the crazy mix of sensations that has caused, because it was simply just amazing. Intense! What a pair of things to sample for the first time, at the same time.

As a result, I have come to a decision:

I am going to copy down the URL of this post, and keep it somewhere. If I ever come across a woman, who falls within my datable age range, who has had this exact same experience, I am just going to propose to her on the spot. Unless of course she read this post ahead of time, cause I think that would be cheating, though perhaps that would qualify as her proposing to me... right? Anyhow, I'll send her the URL as proof that I had the whole thing pre-planned.

I'm having so much fun right now.

How Come I End Up Where I Started?

I am so ridiculous.

But fortunately, by the wisdom of people who love me,
I learn that that's something I should
Just be laughing about.

The boldest of ironies.

Just laugh with me.