Ethan Hawke wrote and directed a movie based on his own book entitled The Hottest State. I didn't see it, but I heard it was a piece of shit. A line from the movie (that I didn't see) stood out for me. It regards lost love: "If it hurt real bad, like a bone fracture or something, it'll ache when it rains." It's a bad line for a movie, it's a bad line for life (albeit if we're completely honest with ourselves, it will sound vaguely familiar), but taken literally, it makes a whole lot of sense. Especially when you think about depression.
I, like 120 plus million people in the world, have suffered from depression. The kind you think no one else will ever suffer or even come close to understand. I was diagnosed when I was 15 and I continue to deal with it now at almost 27 years old. I also suffer panic attacks (from time to time) and cyclothymia, a milder version of bipolar disorder.
My last panic attack happened when I was 17... and then when I was 23. I'd been okay for 6 years and when it happened again I thought my life was over. On my way home from work all I could think about was 'I failed.' How could I fail so profoundly? I was doing so well and then THAT happened and destroyed everything I had worked so hard for. Everyone said I was on my way to something great and then I fell on my face. Something as little as a panic attack became a major tragedy. Obviously, this was all in my head. I don't mind the panic attack itself; I've had plenty and who knows when my next one will rear its ugly head. What bothered me was what it represented. All those years off my meds, working hard to get my shit together, owning my moods and my mind seemed to fall apart in a few minutes. This is how I felt about it at 23 when I was just out of college and had a grownup job. Now I don't feel like Super Woman. I'm well aware of my all-around ignorance regarding everything and I know that a panic attack is just that -- a panic attack. It's over in a few minutes, and then life goes on.
I keep a journal that I write on sporadically. It doesn't narrate great adventures or fun stories that I will later retell to my friends in grandiose fashion. It's a map of my moods going from bad to rock-bottom; some entries are melancholic, some are darker. Suicidal phrases and paragraphs where I tear myself down with no hope of getting on my feet again. It's how I indulge myself when I'm down. I hate being depressed. In theory. I know there's a part of me that loves it, and it terrifies me. I'm too immersed in myself, thinking about new words to describe my bad mood and turning it into art. I'll write poems and compose songs and find new ways to categorize it. It's fun for me, not so much for everyone else. And dammit if it isn't tempting to listen to that voice that urges me to let go and stay down, to sink deeper and deeper until there is nothing but the darkness in me. My sister once told me that being depressed is a great opportunity to be selfish. I agree with her, not just because I think it's true but because it also gives me another reason to punish myself. I'm at my most self-absorbed when my moods are at my lowest.
Re-reading my journal can be excruciating . Not because I feel sad all over again or because it makes me wanna jump off the balcony. It's rough because I feel ashamed of myself. How did I ever allow myself to be that person? It makes me angry. Not at the rest of the world, but at myself. I knew this would happen. During the fall, when I'm suspended in mid-air, another voice reminds me that the harder the fall, the harder it will be to get back up. There have been times right before I hit the ground where I take a step back and try to rationalize my feelings. What am I so ashamed of? Feeling sad sometimes? Feeling anything that could easily be dismissed as weakness by someone else? There's nothing weak about being sensitive. If anything, being sensitive and showing it takes some motherfucking balls. Forget about the journal entries and venting off to friends. I'm talking about when it's just you in your head with no outlet and you have to face the real you. When you can't even look at yourself because if you do you know you're gonna break down. When you're hanging on by a thread... waiting. Not waiting for it to be over, but waiting for the next bout of sadness. Living with that every day for a long period of time will destroy anyone. Some people don't make it and crush under the pressure. But you... you're reading this. That means you kept going. In spite of everything, of the voices in your head mockingly whispering "don't bother", you're still here. That takes a lot of strength. Some may think it's easy for me to write this self-absorbed post -- it's giving me an opportunity to go on and on about myself. But the thing is, this doesn't happen just to me. There are 120 million of us out there and it's not easy to open up about it because of guilt and shame and anger. Well, fuck that. I'm speaking up.
When I'm going through a rough patch it takes everything in me to get out of bed in the morning and go about my day like everyone else. It doesn't look so hard from the outside, but ask me how badly I wanna stay curled up in a ball until it's all over. And the guilt. Jesus Christ, the guilt of not allowing yourself to enjoy moments of genuine happiness because you're too busy feeling miserable. It snowballs into something that escapes your control... but you got out of bed. That's when I remember another quote from a terrible movie called The Last Kiss (the American one) that goes "what you feel only matters to you. It's what you do to the people you say you love that really matters." And I think about that. I feel many things, but the things I do can be entirely different. Sure, I feel like shit. But I got out of bed. I met my friends even though I wanted to be alone to think about how sad I feel. There is a way out, but you need that first step. After that, everything gets much easier. Sometimes it gets hard again, but then you can pull it off. Up and down all the time, that's how it is for everybody.
I have to keep going. I may half-ass it, but I keep going. I force myself to think that if I let myself obey my demons I will never be the same again. I'll cease to live and reduce myself to barely exist. Some people say "one day at a time." That almost never works for me. I have to think ahead. I think "I'm sad now, but in five months I'll be happy." I don't look forward to the next day; I look forward to the next year. I have no idea where I'm gonna be a year from now, but I do know that wherever I am, whatever I'm doing, whomever I'm with, I'll be proud of myself. Glad to be over the rough patch, with a new lesson in my heart and with my mother smiling again.
I don't live my life one day at a time. If I do that, it's one sad day at a time. I have to see it as one small victory every day. Feeling sad? Go for a run. Feel like crying? Do it, but don't let it become the only great event in your day. Still sad? Look up funny Howard Stern interviews and laugh your ass off. Still not working? Call a friend. Find someone to hug you. Remember all those times your loved ones told you how happy you make them and remind yourself that you're capable of bringing happiness to those around you. You're not a waste of space; you're a person that matters. Remember all those times you had fun with your friends. Don't see it as a memory, see it as something to look forward to. You will laugh again, but you have to work for it. Things won't fix themselves, you have to fix them. It's hard, but it can be done. Heard this before? Sure you have. Because it's true. It's the only way out. A little victory will give you something to be proud of, and you need that. You are a person of worth. You're allowed to be proud of yourself. If you could do that little thing, you can do another little thing, and then another little thing, and all those parts will add up to something better. Something that will make you feel better. Normal, even.
I was diagnosed 12 years ago and I've done many things since then, but nothing makes me prouder than knowing that I've dealt with my depression and continued living, even when it gets really bad and I just wanna be alone, feel sorry for myself and write about it on my journal. Even at my darkest moment I'm proud of myself because I'm still here. Eleven years ago I was, in my extremely rational father's words, out of my mind. Today I have a normal life. I'm proud of myself for that. Sure, I was supposed to get better and move on. And I did it. Just because you're supposed to do certain things doesn't mean you can't be proud of yourself for doing them well.
Your depression does not define who you are. It's only a small part in a much bigger picture. It's not a bad thing. It just is, and you have to deal with it. Don't apologize for it. Don't feel guilty about it. You just happen to have it but it's not who you are. I'm not in complete control of my mind. I know I never will be, and whenever I remember that I know that I will be okay.
I'm glad I wrote about this. I tend to bury it deep down or dismiss it, which never brings me any good. But then I read this and remembered that I'm not alone. Even when we're down we can inspire each other.
Depression is a lot like breaking a bone. You may complete a full recovery, or you may have to deal with it for the rest of your life. But you have to do the work. You have to take care of yourself. Don't dismiss it, don't punish yourself for not being in control. It's horrible now but it doesn't last forever. Right now it may be raining and it hurts, but look forward to the sunlight. Spring is coming.
