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Being Depressed
15 years ago
Well, I said I wanted to write from the heart, so here I am, at about 5:30 AM, with a serious case of depression. No signs of sleep on the horizon, but I can almost see the sun.
I don't like admitting I'm depressed. I don't think anyone does. It's like a failing or a weakness of some kind. "Oh, so you're depressed, eh?" we imagine the response. "What about? No job? No boyfriend? Just not pleased that things in your life aren't what you want? Go cry somewhere else, cause there's about a million and three starving orphans in China who have it worse off than you do, Mr. College Degree in the Land of Opportunity." Yes, we have so much to be thankful for here that to admit we're just not happy almost seems like a crime.
And yet... we're just not very happy, are we? In the middle of the night, when there's nobody around to distract us from ourselves, we sit and think and watch the walls for any sign of change. Some of us just curl up; others cry. Some are afraid if they fall asleep, they'll die; others would love nothing better than to sleep forever and never have to worry about a thing again. And all of us wonder why? Why me, in this room, in this bed, with these feelings? Why should I be depressed, or scared, or anxious? Why was I singled out for this?
I've dealt with this problem for a long time and in various ways, from pills to therapy to, currently, just toughing it out (FYI, toughing it out is... well... tough). It's not easy. There are physical symptoms, emotional symptoms, and symptoms you wonder may be buried somewhere in the root of your soul, if you're inclined to believe such things. I don't know which is worse; all I know is I'd very much like to be without all of them.
It's times like these when we want to reach out and feel like there's some kind of connection waiting for us, some hope that out there is someone just like us who knows what it means to have this horrifying, melancholic cocktail simmering somewhere just south of our stomachs. Even the skeptics and the cynics among us (and I fear that may be more or less all of us) secretly want to believe in the naive and callow notion that, perhaps, there's an answer, a reason for all of this, that somewhere along the line life will sort itself out and we'll strike that beautiful balance that all the other naive and callow souls out there already have. And time and again we come up against that same brick wall: the conclusion that life is essentially random, we play the hand we're dealt, and we win or lose based on that.
I don't know if life is random or not. I've never seen anything close to a god or fate, and I doubt I ever will. All I know is that some things in life can't be explained, and this miracle that I have been singled out for is one of them. Why me? Why not me is more like it. Bad things have to happen to someone, after all. If you go no further than that, you have all the clarification you'll ever need. And yet...
Once again, as though it were a crime, I will make an admission: I wish I could believe in something better that this, that my parents were right when they said life gets better, and that maybe somewhere out there is some kind of ultimate order, some cosmic balance that will kick in. Maybe that's a luxury that only the fortunate can afford. I just don't know, and it doesn't help.
We all want to reach out for something. So here I am, reaching out and wondering if someone out there is reaching, too. Maybe we're all secretly depressed inside. I hope not, but if we are, well... at least we're all here, and we can share.
The sun is starting to come up now, and I'm going to see if maybe I can throw in at least a couple hours' sleep before work. If life is truly random, I can take comfort in the chance that I'll have a better hand dealt to me tomorrow.
Bunny signing off.
I don't like admitting I'm depressed. I don't think anyone does. It's like a failing or a weakness of some kind. "Oh, so you're depressed, eh?" we imagine the response. "What about? No job? No boyfriend? Just not pleased that things in your life aren't what you want? Go cry somewhere else, cause there's about a million and three starving orphans in China who have it worse off than you do, Mr. College Degree in the Land of Opportunity." Yes, we have so much to be thankful for here that to admit we're just not happy almost seems like a crime.
And yet... we're just not very happy, are we? In the middle of the night, when there's nobody around to distract us from ourselves, we sit and think and watch the walls for any sign of change. Some of us just curl up; others cry. Some are afraid if they fall asleep, they'll die; others would love nothing better than to sleep forever and never have to worry about a thing again. And all of us wonder why? Why me, in this room, in this bed, with these feelings? Why should I be depressed, or scared, or anxious? Why was I singled out for this?
I've dealt with this problem for a long time and in various ways, from pills to therapy to, currently, just toughing it out (FYI, toughing it out is... well... tough). It's not easy. There are physical symptoms, emotional symptoms, and symptoms you wonder may be buried somewhere in the root of your soul, if you're inclined to believe such things. I don't know which is worse; all I know is I'd very much like to be without all of them.
It's times like these when we want to reach out and feel like there's some kind of connection waiting for us, some hope that out there is someone just like us who knows what it means to have this horrifying, melancholic cocktail simmering somewhere just south of our stomachs. Even the skeptics and the cynics among us (and I fear that may be more or less all of us) secretly want to believe in the naive and callow notion that, perhaps, there's an answer, a reason for all of this, that somewhere along the line life will sort itself out and we'll strike that beautiful balance that all the other naive and callow souls out there already have. And time and again we come up against that same brick wall: the conclusion that life is essentially random, we play the hand we're dealt, and we win or lose based on that.
I don't know if life is random or not. I've never seen anything close to a god or fate, and I doubt I ever will. All I know is that some things in life can't be explained, and this miracle that I have been singled out for is one of them. Why me? Why not me is more like it. Bad things have to happen to someone, after all. If you go no further than that, you have all the clarification you'll ever need. And yet...
Once again, as though it were a crime, I will make an admission: I wish I could believe in something better that this, that my parents were right when they said life gets better, and that maybe somewhere out there is some kind of ultimate order, some cosmic balance that will kick in. Maybe that's a luxury that only the fortunate can afford. I just don't know, and it doesn't help.
We all want to reach out for something. So here I am, reaching out and wondering if someone out there is reaching, too. Maybe we're all secretly depressed inside. I hope not, but if we are, well... at least we're all here, and we can share.
The sun is starting to come up now, and I'm going to see if maybe I can throw in at least a couple hours' sleep before work. If life is truly random, I can take comfort in the chance that I'll have a better hand dealt to me tomorrow.
Bunny signing off.
