Depression Talk

I took this picture last fall, after an incompetent doctor tried to kill me with ultra high doses of anti-depressants. It’s unfortunate that it has to happen, but some medical professionals are just not that adept when it comes to dealing with medical issues that aren’t black and white. As I’ve learned, very little in this world is black and white. Very little actually makes sense, and when you’re little and your parents tell you that life isn’t fair?

They weren’t lying.

I’m not sure why I did take this photo. I think it says a lot about my mood at the time: All I wanted to do was to make the anxiety that was coursing up and down the length of my body go away. Sometimes when I’ve had a bad day, deep inhalation on a cigarette can make it stop. Other times a beer or two can make it stop.

But when your anxiety gets out of control, beyond the point where deep breathing is going to do any good, relying on your favorite vices isn’t going to help, either. It’s a cold hard fact, and one that’s hard to accept a lot of the time.

Most of all, though, this picture makes me think that there is so much more that you don’t see. You don’t see that these objects, these things that I rely on to link me back to sanity, are sitting on my mother’s kitchen table. You don’t see that the room is sunny and bright, and that my mother and I are laughing about how ridiculous it is to photograph one’s drugs before washing them down with beer. (Which is not something you should do. Just, you know, as an FYI).

Does it make you think anything in particular?

Not in that sense, no. (Although if you ask my Mom, my dog, my Dad, or my favorite uncle? Yes. Yes, I actually am that great.)

What’s great about my life right now is that I’m free from signs and symptoms of anxiety and depression. I’ve been getting out of bed in the morning, I’ve been doing productive things with my life. I haven’t been chain smoking in a dark room for hours on end, I haven’t been hiding in the comfort of my down duvet without seeing the light of day for days.

I’ve been just great. I haven’t even been having insane emotional reactions that involves threats of homicide, high pitched shrieking into the phone at my mother, or the impaling of myself upon large, sharp farm implements (Ok, Ok, I’ve never actually impaled myself on any large, sharp farm implements. That doesn’t mean that I don’t want to impale the people who piss me off on those same implements.)

Sometimes I’d like to take all the credit for this incredible amount of normalcy that I feel each day. I’d like to tell myself, YES! You did it! You got happy again! You’ve finished school, you’re moving back Home, you’ve been productive at work, you’ve managed to not get fired, and clearly? This is ALL YOUR DOING!

I’d love to say that to myself every single day. The problem is, though, that I really can’t. There are others around me who helped tremendously the last time I felt that I was in my darkest hours: And of course, there are the drugs.

As someone with Insanity facing her on a regular basis, there is a lot more credit to go around than a pat on my own back can give. I’m one of the very, very lucky people in this world who has a whole network of friends and loving family members to count on when times get tough.

This is a main staple in the life of a crazy person: A Network. I have a built-in Network in my family and extended family. I also have a wonderful Network of friends. On top of that, I have on my side the man who is quite possibly The Best Doctor In The World. He is helpful, attentive, aware, concerned, and most of all, he makes fun of my Insanity with the same quirky sense of humor that I do.

And so, lately I have been giving myself pats on the back for doing so great. I celebrate my accomplishments and occaisonally, when no one is looking, I beam at myself in the mirror for doing so well.

But I also have to give credit where credit is due: To my Network. Without myself, I am nothing, and without my Network, I am lost.

Amanda