How to Use Your Compass to Navigate Depression
Where Are We, and Where Are We Going
Why do I sometimes feel lost and stuck at the same time? Disoriented and incapacitated. Confused and paralyzed.
It is called depression.
You learn to live with it, or it kills you.
Remember to take your meds, kiddies.
But not all antidepressants come in a pill bottle. Antidepressants come in the form of humans, dogs, rivers, work, walks, art, music, meditation, sex. Yes, sex. I said it. Don’t want to discuss it, but I said it. It needed to be said. So there.
I am not a doctor, a therapist, a counsellor or priest. I am not an expert on anything. I am just a human being who lives with depression. I do not do this gracefully, and sometimes I am wholly unsuccessful. But I survive.
But goddamnit, I want to thrive! I want to flourish. I want to blossom like a fucking daisy.
If you or someone you know is contemplating suicide, please contact these folks: https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/
I spent most of the month of June emotionally incapacitated. I would walk around the neighborhood for hours between naps. But mostly I sat in the dark with my eyes closed and wondered why everyone in the world did not feel like I did. It seemed like the world was ending and I was the only one who noticed.
I first noticed this current wave of darkness beginning at Christmas. I did not want to admit it. I usually get the blues around the holidays. It is not uncommon. But I knew that this was more than that.
And then the pandemic started.
My world changed so drastically, viscerally and rapidly that it made it difficult for me to see things clearly. Because of the collective human trauma, I questioned and second guessed the feelings in my gut.
We are living in an insane world, I told myself. How can a sane person not be devastated by the hopelessness of these times, I asked? Why isn’t everyone’s psyche being crushed by our dire circumstances? I could not figure out how most people were busying themselves with their normal activities and distractions. The world was crazy. Not me.
I didn’t know what to tell my boys.
“It’s okay, son. I don’t have a job anymore. I take three naps a day, watch the birds in the backyard, play guitar, walk the dog, bake cakes, talk to myself and cry uncontrollably at times. Your mom* is alternately catatonic and manic. Your brother is angry and barracuda-like. But don’t worry. Quarantine is the perfect container for us to engage in family therapy. There is no escape. You’ll be fine. Because we can help you.”
(We are so fucked.)
People talk about our lives going back to normal. I don’t want things to go back to normal. I want something new. Something fresh and vital should be born out of this human tragedy. If it is not, then I might as well go back to fucking bed.
*Lest anyone not recognize the use of exaggeration to make a point, my wife is strong, amazingly resilient, tolerant, loving, not to mention devastatingly beautiful. (She made me say that.)
Pooping Out
Did you know that antidepressants “poop out?” That is the medical term for “the shit quits working.” This should come as no surprise to me. Every drug that I have taken with any regularity has pooped out. If alcohol and cocaine still worked for me, I would still be doing that shit.
Changing meds can be a pain in the ass. The side effects are an adventure in pain and discomfort. Yawning is a fun side effect. And shitting your pants. That is a good one. I like sweating profusely and having acid reflux. Sometimes my body vibrates when I am sitting still. I chew my tongue in my sleep like it is wad of chewing gum. And my all-time favorite side effect is not being able to have an orgasm. Yay!
But it is better than sleeping all day and praying for a heart attack. Not much better, but better, I guess.
So, I met with my doctor and changed meds in June. The funny thing is that I automatically felt better. It takes four to six weeks for the shit to kick in, but just having the new prescription in my possession made me feel better. It is the way an alcoholic feels the moment the bartender pours him the first drink of the day. Just having the drink in front of him makes him feel better.
And then I felt like shit for two weeks. Sleep was more like a long sweaty panic attack, from which I emerged each day with aching muscles, heart burn and severe depression. Pitiful.
Finally, most of the side effects subsided. I started showing up for my life again. But I was confounded by the number of days that I did absolutely nothing. I felt ashamed. The idea that I could not control this depression because I am weak was ever present.
I mostly felt anger. That was an improvement. I was grateful to feel anything. I was null and void too long, witnessing the days of my life slip into oblivion, wasted. Wasted like an unwanted, but much needed cigarette, leaving me feeling dirty, sick and snuffed out.
Did you know that the withdrawal symptoms from antidepressants are the same symptoms as depression.? Were these pills created by evil people?
No, just marketed and sold by them.
Enough about pills. Maybe they work. Maybe they don’t. Perhaps they lubricate my brain enough so that I can participate in my own self-care. They might nudge me off the crazy train so that I can utilize other antidepressants that do not come in bottles.
I am not engaging in any controversy. Ever. With anyone. If you want to debate the efficacy of pharmaceutical antidepressants, I am hiding under the house until you go away.
I’ve never been 100% willing to do anything that is good for me. But I’ve been more than willing to do things that were detrimental or even deadly.
The good news is that we only need to be 51% willing to take the first step in the right direction. Forward movement in any direction is better than paralysis.
That’s right, it only takes 51% willingness to break free. Just enough to push you off the cliff. Wait! What?!
It’s okay. You can fly. You just don’t know it yet.
Pain as Motivation
One of the things that motivates me most is pain. If I get in enough pain, I will eventually take some sort of action that will relieve it.
People don’t show up to rehab or a therapist’s office on a winning streak. They show up because they are hurting. They want the hurting to stop, but the things that they were doing to alleviate the discomfort and dis-ease quit working. And now they are fucked. So fucked that they are willing to surrender and try something different. Something that seems stupid and doesn’t even make sense to their rattled brain.
When we are depressed our willingness to do anything is depleted. It is one of the symptoms. See the conundrum?
I wanted to have the desire to live my life to the fullest. I wanted to want to so badly. But I just didn’t.
I began searching my soul for stuff that gives my life meaning. And I decided that I would do one thing for someone or do something that brings meaning to my existence each day.
I had plenty of time. It ain’t like I had a job or nothing.
These are not grand gestures I am talking about. These are simple heart felt actions. Like cooking a meal or cleaning the kitchen or taking out the garbage. And some of this I was doing anyway.
But I changed my attitude toward these small chores. I did them with a renewed mindfulness toward love. I did them without being an asshole. (In case you didn’t know, I’m not exactly a joy to be around sometimes.) And I knew that I must do them if I wanted to be free from the agonizing depression.
I had this idea while I was making biscuits one morning. I was suddenly aware of how good it felt to have my hands in a bowl of dough. Honestly, the sensation was so amazing that I thought there must be something wrong with me. I had been depressed for so long that the joy felt wrong and insane.
Making biscuits felt like a drug to me. And I’ve always liked drugs. Doing one always makes me want to do more.
Finding other meaningful things to do was more difficult, because I carry irrational regret for spending time doing “frivolous” stuff like playing music, reading or writing. That stems from my Irish Catholic shame that I was born with. But my desire to become unstuck and my 51% willingness removed these old messages that no longer serve me.
Sometimes a revelation is something that you’ve known in your gut all along.
So, I decided that I would do more things that gave my life meaning and fewer things that sucked the life out of me.
If you need examples of life sucking activities, open your phone. Click on any app. There you go.
Finally, let’s look at our compass and wrap this shit up.
C-O-M-P-A-S-S
These are seven possible directions that we can go to move away from our depression toward a more meaningful life.
C: Community connection- Gotta have people. Depression makes us want to isolate.
O: Outdoors- Get your ass outta bed, at least go sit in the yard. Let the sun shine in!
M: Meaningful work- Since the pandemic, I had to change what this means to me. It is not necessarily what we do for a living.
P: Physical movement- Again, please get out of bed.
A: Art- Create something, anything. Do you remember how to play?
S: Spiritual practice- Pray, meditate, chant, dance, handle snakes.
S: Sex- I don’t want to talk about it. Just do it.
We will examine each of these directions in the coming weeks. (Except sex. I’m not going there.) And we will learn to use The Law of Subtraction to remove the roadblocks that keep us stuck.
Please continue to send me your stories about how you cope with depression. We will learn to thrive together. Like a field of fucking daisies.
