Tag: depression

It’s okay

There seems to be an ephasis to feel fantastic all the time, so please allow me to state why that is not a great thing.

To clarify: you should not live in a constant state of depression. To assume that you are broken because you are having an off-day is wrong, though. You need peeks and valleys in your adventure through life.

The way I look at it is that you need a 1 out of 10 day to make the 7 actually matter. If every day is a 7, it becomes a new 1. If the worst thing that has happened to you is you forgot to stop the toaster on time, then the suprising death of a friend is going to hit harder than it should. All of a sudden, that bad day is going to become the worst thing ever.

Again, living every day at a 1 is not great. You should talk to someone (whether it be a friend or a family member) if you cannot seem to shake a funk. However, if you fluctuate your emotions on a regular basis, I am under the impression that you are healthy.

No, I don’t have sources. I am not a professional on this topic, and I make no illusions that I am. I do think that being sad for a day or two is healthy. Getting unreasonably angry from time to time is normal. No one should ever live in a state of bliss all of the time. There have been many dystopian novels that emphasise that idea. Look at Brave New World, in particular, to see how such an existance could effect civilization.

More on Epilepsy

I don’t know why I research this topic. I am always overcome with a feeling of dread as I scroll through diagnoses and side-effects.

On that note: YAY LIVING IN CANADA AND HAVING PRIVILEGE!

ahem… I promise that I will not speak of privilege again.

The fact that Epilepsy is considered a disease according to the WHO is strange. It makes sense when you consider that some epileptics get a viral infection that readjusts the chemistry of the brain. Everyone I have met with epilepsy, however, has had physical brain damage. Maybe it’s just me, but calling that a disease is like saying someone with an amputation has a disease. Disease, to me, is acute.

So, as I was writing the “disease is acute” line, I started trying to define ‘acute’ in my head. Part of me doing that was identifying an acute disease. I noticed quickly how my definition was crap, but I still stand by my statement that epilepsy should be viewed less as a disease and more of a physical impairment.

I’m on a fucking role, I NOW HATE THE TERM PHYSICAL IMPAIRMENT.

You know what I’m getting at.

Anyway, The thing that I really wanted to point out is that epilepsy goes hand-in-hand with a plethora of mental disabilities, including depression and anxiety. I know that I have noticed an uptick in depressive episodes since my first diagnosed seizure. I am using that as a marker because that is when I started tracking. I’m not saying that is when my depression set in, and I am well aware that I might just be depressed because I’m looking for signs of depression.

My point that I was trying to get to, is that over 50 million people worldwide suffer from some form of epilepsy. The article I was reading pointed out how 70% of people cannot get treatment, but I choose to look at the fact that only 30% of people have access to treatment. I, myself, have gone a very long time without a conscious seizure, probably due to the medications that I am on. I don’t even take the largest dose, and I have gone two consecutive days not taking it because I’m an idiot and forgot.

this is normal

It turns out that epilepsy is linked to depression. I thought I was just feeling down because, even after seven years of dealing with it, I never quite got okay with being in the wheelchair. My mind also played with the idea that it is because I’m not playing on stage anymore: maybe it’s a kind of withdrawal?

No. As a friend of mine put it, “all this brain stuff effects depression”. See, she also suffers from epilepsy, and has for a very long time I asked her, flat out, if this is “normal” because I knew that, of anyone, she would know.

Actually, I told her my findings and asked her if she felt down and if she could link it to her depression. Well, I asked her all of that in a less rambly way.

I am not using this as a crutch.
I am not putting all past and future actions on this one fact.
I AM looking into it to explain some things I have said to myself. To come up with some sort of reason for things said that I normally would never dream of. This helps me understand and rationalize some of my less-desirable traits that have come to my attention as of late. Not excuse reactions away, but explain why I might say or do something completely out of character.

I feel like I have to express this the most public way I have available to me.

UNFORTUNATELY FOR YOU: that is a blog post.

My reading was from this site, and it really does explain epilepsy and depression in an easy-to-read way.

Assume the Fall

I made sweeping promises the other day. I would love to say that I will stay true to the schedule that I mapped out, but if I keep having days like today, I am going to promise that it will not pan out.

Yes, I have been working (pretty regularly) on my latest book. The issue I am having is that there are days, a lot of days, where I don’t feel receptive at all.

For example: today, I am very despondent. I just spent an hour looking at the wall, and was not bored for one second. I usually wouldn’t pay any attention to such an event, but I find myself finding it very hard to work on a project that I won’t get any feedback on for months, if not years.

Yes, even according to my rough “map” I set out, I have until November to produce a final version. I would like to pretend that 14000 words was an impressive point to be at. I have a large portion of events layed out in my mind, and putting them to words would be a quick event. Creating flourishes and riveting events would take a week, at most.

Knowing all of this, why do I not just do it already?

I don’t because I emotionally can’t. It’s not depression, it’s not anger, it’s not explicitly anxiety.

It’s apathy. It’s disdane. It’s hate.

I want to destroy something. I want everything to fall apart around me and drag me into an abyss. I am looking up at the world around me from a depth, and I cannot keep climbing to a ledge. I haven’t even gamed in a few weeks, because I cannot be bothered. I keep trying to listen to music to ease my mind, but I am constantly reminded of what I used to do.

I have even written the next few episodes of my PodCast to try to motivate me to do anything, my last episode only got five views however. It’s hard to keep caring when there is no pressure to do so.

Dehumanization

First off, I’d like to point out how awesome of a word that is. It almost looks like a death metal band name.

What do I mean by “dehumanization”, I pretend to hear you ask. I simply mean the actions of other reducing your self-esteem, whether that be by accident or on purpose. To be clear, I don’t mean reducing self-esteem like “I’m no pretty”, I am referring to no longer feeling worthy of any sort of human interaction. I mean the kind of state that makes someone no even ask for basic human needs because they don’t feel worth it. I mean locking yourself from the world because you feel like it would be better without you. And, before you ask, I am not talking about how depression and mental state could render that possible. I am talking about physical actions taken to reduce someone to a shell of a human, even if the actions are meant as an innocent gesture of goodwill.

Let’s start with an example: I use a commode. What is a commode? it is basically an indoor outhouse, which I realise how stupid that is to read. We are in the process of building a main floor bathroom, and I use that because I cannot make it to the second floor bathroom.

In order to maintain any semblance of cleanliness, my parents empty it into a traditional toilet. They insist, and continue to insist, that they don’t mind doing so. In fact: they insist that they are completely happy that I continue to do so, and constantly remind me that it is a temporary measure. When I implied one day that it is completely (yay! A proper use of the word of the day!) dehumanizing, they scolded me for being so proud.

Okay, so here is my issue with it. I have to announce when the commode has anything in it, regardless of whether or not there is a meal there. Regardless of whether or not someone is busy. Regardless or not if there is company over.

THERE IS NO NEGATIVE REPERCUSSION BROUGHT ON BY MY FAMILY.

It is a mandatory step that is temporary. I know this, but it does not change the fact that I hate it.

That’s right: I have taken away the burden from those around me and have internalized the shame. I am well aware that they are completely okay with the situation. I am well aware that this is temporary. I am well aware that the shame I feel is only because of my own pride.

It does not change the fact that I find it horrible.

That is one, and maybe the most extreme explanation I could use. I will now make things more general.

Let’s say that a group of friends are going to a festival. Jimmy is hesitant because the loud noise of the crowd, let alone the music, will set off his PTSD, and his reaction could ruin everyone’s time. His friends understand, and decide to not go. They are sympathetic, and kind to him. They constantly reassure him that it is not a big deal.

Nice story, right? Did you see where it went wrong?

Jimmy’s friends should not reassure him after the first time. He knows that he could not go, and he never intended for his friends not to go on his behalf. There constant reassurance makes things worse because he eventually would have just moved on, but now he is being told over and over again how “it’s fine” and that “he should not worry.” Now, he is left with the sinking feeling that it is far from fine. Even though they keep saying it, and they may actually mean it. He might just be running in his head for no reason.

Now, I am not saying that placating someone once, or twice, is not necessary. Quite the opposite, saying something is fine, and reassuring someone that everything is fine, can help. Just know when to move on.

I know that I use a strong example, siting PTSD as the cause for the mental anguish. This can be related to depression, physical limitation, or any other limiter in someone’s life. The best way to deal with it is to initially placate, then only mention things when brought up by the party affected.

Also: know the person. I am saying all of this in a general way, but it does all apply to people who think like me. I am not implying that it would be the same for everyone. I feel as though some over placate, which can be worse than anything.

Hi there, depression

I recently made a post on FaceBook that instigated some polarising opinions from “I appreciate this” to “you fucking hack”. I now feel obliged to explain my reasoning further.

The initial post read as follows:

Some days, I worry that when people don’t talk about suicide or depression because the feeling is potentially fleeting and they don’t want the stigma of being “that” person following them around

I will now be an over-explaining ass and further dissect what I meant:
I have a couple of friends, myself included, who are afraid of reaching out because what they feel is very much temporary. How can depression be temporary? Well, it cannot. However, sadness can be. You could be overly stressed one day, or feel crushed under the oppressive thumb of reality. You could want to say something about it, then hold back because you don’t want to be a burden, or be forever stigmatized as a sad sack.

This post was not to say that no one should reach out. Quite the opposite. It is simply reminding people to isolate the situation from the person until you know the full story. To reiterate, it could be a bad day. It could be a bad moment. It might be a bad week. It doesn’t always mean that the person is chronically depressed or in need of public sympathy. Quite the opposite: there are occasions where public pressure may push the person over an edge that they may not recover from.

A better way to handle it is to simply acknowledge it. Leave a “like” on their message. If you notice a pattern, then reach out privately. If that doesn’t seem to result in anything, move on to getting a hold of family or friends if you notice an ongoing issue.

Don’t assume that talking will do anything. Don’t gaslight or rehash. Don’t guilt.

There is also a chance that the depressing thought might be simply a song lyric (something I have fallen prey to many times ove). There is also a chance that it was an expression of frustration over one event.

Or: maybe they are depressed. If that is the case, just make it clear that you are willing to listen, but make sure to do so privately. Public expressions could be seen as shaming. Shaming could lead to putting up walls, or worse, sprialing.

Again: a private extension of a branch is often all that the person would want if they want anything.

Of course, every expression of depression is unique. That’s what makes it so hard to deal with. Keep in mind that there are a lot of people out there who do not want people to know that they are actually sad. Again, assume that the person doesn’t want to share their emotions privately. Don’t just jump to “sad post therefore sad person” and keep in mind that there is a large number of people born after the year 1980 who just like sad music.

Here is a link for the depression and addiction resources that I have for the Kingston and South Frontenac region. If you need help and cannot reach out, for whatever reason, please look into this. I am not trained, nor do I have any facts that I need to share. These are all just opinions and the point of view from someone who suffers from mild depression themself. Please, use the link above. Get proper guidance if you are actually worried about someone and don’t know what to do. It’s not a secret that I have failed time and time again.

Depression

I am going to start this of with a warning. I don’t plan on getting too dower or bleak, but this is a very triggering topic for some. If you are someone who has a tendency to get upset by talk of suicide, depression, or the state of the world, consider this a warning and remember that I love you. Call a help-line, talk to a psychiatrist, or get hold of a friend. You can even just leave a comment with a statement as simple as “help” and I will make sure to reach out.

Also, this is not a request for help. This is not a sign of warning, nor is it an answer. It’s more of a series of ideas and questions posed as a blog. I am not an expert, and I do not pretend to be. Again, resources are available if you need them. The one thing I am very passionate about is that talking to someone is, not just a step, the best step. That includes morons, like me, on the internet with too much time on their hands.

Okay. You have been warned. This is the last line that I will post before launching into my thoughts. I promise you that they will be upsetting to someone, and I refuse to be sorry for them.

If you couldn’t tell from that 3 paragraph intro, I have a lot of thoughts on depression, suicide, and mental health in general. Again: I am the furthest thing from a professional, and I have never been diagnosed as depressed. If that is a deal breaker for you, have a good day.

When I say that I have never been diagnosed with depression, I mean that in the most clinical definition. Am I depressed? Almost definitely on paper. The thing that keeps me from confirming the suspicion I have of depression is a sense of irony. It would almost be too perfect if I am depressed because my outlook on life is so bleak. I don’t care what happens after I die; I am dead. I cannot believe in an afterlife no matter how hard I try. I guess one could argue that I lead a hedonistic life, but that term seems too definite to me.

If I refuse to define my life as headonistic, how do I define it?

Well, I would say that I live a life of insecurity and stats. I obsessively watch things like YouTube subscriptions, video view numbers, stats of interactions with Twitter, and fancounts on FaceBook. I will spend the next week obsessing over the engagement that this post receives, as I have with every post I have made to this site over the last five years. The first AND last thing I do in a day is look at book sales, which haven’t shown a single number in three months at this point.

I have tied my worth as a human being to a series of number and engagement ratings. I hide my personality behind paywalls and am constantly disappointed with how poorly I am doing according to the numbers today, as opposed to seeing how they may have increased over the last year. The other day, I noticed that I lost two followers on my Twitter a month ago (the one stat I don’t keep up with) and spent hours re-reading the 40 or so posts I have made since they vanished to see what I might have done wrong. Damn, there is a chance that they were never real people. Alternatively, there is a chance that they WERE real people that realised how pointless Twitter is and disabled their account to go do something cool, like eat a sandwich.

I have a hard time disassociating likes, followers, and view numbers from accomplishment. I should be proud of the fact that I have 10ish releases of music and a book under my belt, but I find myself hung up on how I am very broke, rely on family and friends, and am very broke. Ironically, money is something that I cannot attach myself to. I have had the same Patrons forever. I appreciate them very much, but I don’t plug or push donating to that because I am trying to make stuff without relying on that. Even though I do have three dogs and a cat that would like to be fed.

So far, I know that this post has seemed like waffling. Those opening paragraphs seem like nothing more than fodder to keep the morbid few reading further into this post, but I swear there is a point to all of this. I cannot talk about my own mental shortcomings without defining where my head is at the point.

Back to my point of “who cares what happens after you die?” That is actually something I have been struggling with a lot as of late. Therefor. I have very little regard for life. I cannot find a reason to care about what happens after I die. If my identity gets taken, if my book gets plagiarized, if my unreleased work gets finished by someone else and published under their name: I will be dead and therefore cannot reap any benefit or dismay that it might generate. If anything, I do not have to deal with the fallout and heartbreak of it not going as well as I think it should.

So, if I have this very “selfish” view on life; why keep going? If I am so convinced that there will be no repercussion that I have to deal with, why even risk the heartbreak? I should be willing to take my own life. I should be already dead. I should die quietly and make sure that I go in a quiet manner to make sure that I matter as little in death as I did in life.

One word.
Tomorrow.

I’m curious about what tomorrow brings. I’m curious about what I can accomplish. I’m curious about what my friends will do, and if the things I have (or my friends have) done will matter in the long run.

If you can’t find reason to live, just remember that the reason could be as simple as what the butterfly effect might bring in the next moment.

That might sound stupid, juvenile, or even selfish; but it helps me see tomorrow. Yes; I have a wife that I love very much. Yes; I have my family, friends, and possible prospects in writing. Yes; I have a small collection of people that might read this line. I love all of you very much, and I appreciate you coming to my articles. I know that I have been a bit more rambly as of late, and much less directed. I am sorry for that, but please remember that I appreciate you.

Also music.

this post is not depressing

The idea that “things will always get better” is a lie.

Hear me out.

It’s not a bad thing that things change. Yes, at times it can seem, or even be, daunting. To wallow in a mindset where things could be better is just as debilitating as the event could be.

Take me being in a wheelchair. Yes, it sucks. Yes, the healthcare system has all but failed me. Yes, I do make attempts to get my body back to where it once was. I never think that things could be better, because the idea of better is so damned subjective.

Will I walk again? No one has been able to give me a conclusive reason why not, so I’m going with a softy ‘probably’ for now. Do I want to? Of course I do. That’s why I try to walk everyday, only held back by the brain damaged I sustained that left me epileptic and has caused my muscles to react strangely to stimulus.

Do I really want things to be better?

Better than what? I have gone on rants discussing how I think the term “better” is bloody horrible. To paraphrase: Better than what? If your response was my current condition, then I have good news for you! I have gotten a lot further in some form of recovery! I mean: I still have brain damage and cannot walk on my own, but to dwell on that fact is futile. I’ll walk when I walk, and I won’t stop doing things until it starts to happen. Then, I’m planning on taking a four week nap and punching cute things endlessly.

I play. Of course there is no end to “improvement.” I do prefer that word over ‘better’ because improvement in quantifiable, but I digress.

So, why make the claim that things don’t get better over time? There is a chance that the person wants help instead of just sweeping proclamations. Instead of basically saying “stop bitching for now”, offer a hand. Even just the offer is all people want some times. If they turn it away, calmly and quietly leave the situation. There is a good chance they just need to vent in a semi-public fashion. Like screaming into the night and your neighbour accidentally hears you. FaceBook is just a way that the police will not get involved for public disturbances.

In eventual conclusion: no. I do not think things will get better. You just get used to the situation around you and learn to cope with it. There is nothing wrong with that. In fact, it means you’re learning! You’re adapting! Just know who you can turn to. There is no shame in asking for help.

Once more for the people in the back:

THERE IS NO SHAME IN ASKING FOR HELP.

I just can’t…

The following is a post that I’m writing while I’m depressed. There is no reason to worry, I just thought I’d get my emotions out unedited and maybe this will explain why I am the way I am. Not for you, dear reader. I hope that it will allow for introspection, and allow me to figure out my brain a bit better.

I have, ever since I saw Amanda Palmer, championed the idea that writing while actually depressed is very difficult. I know that, for me, I become hyper critical.

I mean, I looked at the title for this post for about 25 minuets to decide if it was too flashy for this experiment, or not flashy enough. After all: I am trying to garnish an audience. At the same time, I am trying to avoid clickbait and concern.

The pride that I take in the image I portray is pathetic. Even to me. I want to be seen as strong; as a kind of guide for the people that have been struck down later in life by a disability. I don’t have any credentials, but I think I’m doing an okay job figuring shit out.

I digress. What kind of depressed am I today? Just a melancholy level of morose and leads me to come off as caring more than I should. That sounds almost malicious: I should say that I come off as overly empathetic. The feelings are real, but the delivery seems almost fake. I think, anyway. I could be wrong. I just feel like I am costing through the miasma of life, and I will do almost anything that seems like a good idea to someone.

This is the mood I was in when I started smoking. I had a friend who smoked, thought I came off as disturbed, and tossed me a cigarette to help me calm down. I really would never blame my smoking on someone else, but I want to be truthful in this.

So, yeah. This has been a deconstruction of what my depressed brain thinks. If I post this, it will be unedited from this point on. I have done very little in the mean time, and I think I have done okay. I am saying that without reading everything over, so if I’m wrong, all the better.

One thing I do want to say; I am writing about what goes on in my own head. None of this is a representation of depression in everyone. If you are depressed, or know someone who is depressed, contact someone who is trained on how to help.

Anyway, I feel I have rambled on enough. Something I am finding very hard to do is to leave this “article” alone as a kind of stamp and evolution of my mood. I am sorry if it gets a bit rambly at times. I am sorry if this ending is anti-climatic. I feel silly closing off what I wrote with a paragraph like this. I just need to tell everyone, especially you, that it will all be okay. It may not seem like it, but we’ll all survive this hell. Maybe we won’t be able to do it alone, but there is always someone out there. Even when it’s hard as hell to find someone, they are out there. At the very least, you have me.