Hey there internet. When I started thisspaceblank, my main purpose was to write about the stuff that matters to me in the range of music, entertainment, technology and internet culture – you know, fun stuff! But there’s a conversation I need to have with you, internet. It’s about depression.
I was just watching part one of Stephen Fry’s documentary regarding his own depression, and as I sit here and think about how brave he is to be honest about something so personal, I feel the urge to take a leaf out of his book and be honest about what’s actually something that matters so much in my life that it tends to make me forget a lot of other stuff – like that life is generally good and I’m not an awful person.
You see, internets, when a person thinks too much, sometimes they think of the wrong stuff and it becomes a downward spiral that seem to move faster and faster the more you think about it. This situation can be improved by the consumption of a pill that we refer to as an anti-depressant, which in Norwegian is hilariously nicknamed the ‘happy pill’. The nickname is so outrageously wrong that to me, only people who have never been on them can truthfully describe them as so, as they’re not magic, they don’t fix your problems, and they don’t make you happy.
In me, what the anti-depps (as I like to call them) mostly cancel out the noise of my own brain. It stops all the thoughts floating to the surface and generally lets me get on with my life, with fever days ruined by the ‘I can’t get out of bed’ syndrome which is often followed by the ‘I can’t talk to people’ effect, which today had me arriving at work 30 minutes late, and blowing off someone’s party. These last two weeks old symptoms have been coming to the surface again as I am trying to reduce the dosage of my anti-depps, with the support of my doctor. Turns out I probably wasn’t as ready to reduce as I thought.
What does this mean? Mostly that the noise is back. I feel like the same person completely, but with an added layer of “these are the many reasons why you suck” from my brain, between me and reality. It makes me question everything and everyone – my friends, my relationships with people, my skills, what people say, what I hear, you name it.
Depression is not about being sad all the time. In fact, I am more often angry than sad when I’m depressed. Or I lose all will to do anything. It’s not all crying in a corner holding your knees (although that does happen), my particular depression – which is coupled with anxiety – is more hyper-sensitivity and over-reacting to any sort of confrontation than it is despairing. In fact, I get so angry it really upsets me and I start crying, which makes me even more frustrated, because I don’t even manage to get angry like a normal person. Depression can be fatigue, not wanting to go to sleep because dreams can be haunting, feeling hungry all the time but not wanting food, compulsively shopping to feel a bit better for a few seconds, and so on and so forth. It manifests differently in different people.
My depression isn’t really a secret. Most people in my life are already informed, as are my closest colleagues and my manager. If it weren’t for the support I have around me, today would’ve been much, much worse. At the end of the day, that I’ve struggled with depression for most of my life does colour how I write in my blog, and when I’m sitting here not posting because I’m too wrapped up in my own brain to focus my thoughts properly, then it’s like I’m not addressing the elephant in the room. So here goes.
Hi, elephant! I know, this brain isn’t really big enough for the two of us, but we’re just going to have to get along somehow. You’re fairly large right now, but I’m hoping to shrink you to a manageable size so I can stove you away in a box. Until then, I am not going to feel ashamed about you appearing in the room to bug me again.
..if you guessed that this post was mostly for brain-dump effect so that I can get some sleep tonight, then a winner is you! The monster wasn’t going to let off until I dealt with it. Heh, monster. My depression is like Harry Potter’s chest monster, only it’s in my head, and I don’t fancy Ginny.
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