22 June 2011

Ressurection

One of the great ironies of depression is that it’s hard to see from the inside. From the inner perspective it can look like moodiness, frustration with everyday events, an inexplicable loss of good judgment or an intense desire to be alone in a small world that you can control. From inside, nothing ties all those things together and names them symptoms of depression.

The irony continues when one gets treatment for depression. As the medication begins to take effect, all of this becomes clearer, the parts fitting together into a whole. And the depressed person realizes acutely just how dark his life had become. From within depression, the darkness seems normal. Outside of it, it leads to questions like “Why couldn’t I see this?” and “Shouldn’t I have known?”

That’s the punch line: depressed people often cannot put a name on what’s changed in their lives other than that they are unhappier. They say “stressed” or “under pressure”. They say “I can’t sleep”. They say they’re lonely and/or don’t care about anything and want to be alone.

No part of the experience makes sense until the depression begins to lift. Then the picture gradually becomes so clear one wonders how they missed it. Why they didn’t see it before.

And contrary to popular myth, antidepressants aren’t “happy pills”. They don’t create an artificial happiness that wasn’t there before but had been superceded by the dark side. Pills don’t create happiness: they only allow happiness to be more of an option. They don’t mask or dilute pain, but they do allow the individual to deal with those emotions more sanely.

It’s been about a month for me on Celexa, and I kick myself for not talking to my doctor sooner. I suppose that I didn’t want to admit that I was weak and needed help. I really don’t know. Nothing was very clear when I was teetering along the edge of the abyss.

A month in, things are much clearer. I’m back to being me. Hopelessly romantic and optimistic. Instead of seeing what is and retreating inside myself, I see what is and what could be. I can laugh at the absurdity of daily life instead of taking it as a personal affront.

The only side effects have been some dry-mouth and loss of libido ("dead dick" in the parlance). I can always drink more water, and since I gave up promiscuity a decade ago, not caring about sex is something of a blessing. I ain't getting none any time soon, but I don't care. It's one less thing to distract me.

In short, I have a perspective that I lacked a few short weeks ago. A perspective that is more in line with normal functioning for me than what I had become.

People have noticed. They ask me if I’ve changed my hair or lost weight. (“No” to both: my hair is still gray and I’ve put on 10 lbs.) They say I look “healthier”, whatever that means. They know something’s different, but they can’t quite put a finger on what it is.

The difference is that I’m back. The real me is present again. I'm in the house.

I feel almost like I’ve been raised from the dead.

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