Just this moment

Just this moment, I feel halfway decent.

Depression is an odd state, in the sense that it colors not merely one's mood but also one's reason. I suppose this characteristic is shared with any mental disorder- if it were not so insidiously affective, it wouldn't be an issue. You'd merely have emotion on one side and reason on the other, and be able to limit how much the emotion leaks through. That's how I see mental health; that's how I define the slippery term "normality".

Over the past few days, I have not been very successful in keeping my emotions from affecting my reason. At first, I just figured that it was a bit of fatigue from having been so physically sick, complicated perhaps by the medicine. After all, the doctor herself had warned of possible moodiness from the steroids...and while I didn't really notice my emotions being out of control while I was taking them, the worst of the emotional upset began to come on right after I'd taken the last pill. It could be related or not- I'm just not sure. Hell, it could have something to do with the antibiotics that I was continuing to take (finished yesterday). I just don't know enough about my body's reaction to chemicals to say anything for sure.

I looked up "avelox" (the antibiotic) and "prednisone" (the steroid) and they both indicate depression among the possible side effects. I do so hate jumping to conclusions, especially concerning medical information on the web...but even a skeptic would have to admit that there's some reason for suspicion.

However, my main point is that I'm getting clearer on the dividing line between "big D" and "little d" depression, and it it's all about how much control you have over letting your mood influence your perception of reality. No big revelation there, but it just might give me a bit more of an edge in fighting the attacks. I need all the help I can get, as I'm resigned to dealing with this myself.

I suppose that's not the smartest way to go about it. Many people would tell me to seek treatment, but I have little faith in professional psychiatry...and even less in medication. I will admit that I am haunted by the thought that I could have been leading a happier, more productive life for the last decade or so, if only I'd found the right combination of counseling and drugs. However, my own small experience with professionals has been frustrating and occasionally humiliating...complicated, no doubt, by suspicions about the usual diagnosis and treatment of depression.

I don't want to sound like a crusty old fogey, but it does seem like too many people are overly eager to diagnose themselves with depression, and too many professionals are overly eager to confirm it. A lot of people seem far too willing to throw dubious drugs and psychobabble into their system simply because they think they could be happier. Are all of these people really crippled by depression? Are all of these professionals as informed and objective as they should be? Oh, and is there any reason to suspect that Profit is behind any of this?

For better or worse, I was brought up with a suspicion, bordering on contempt, that claiming depression is often a matter of weak-willed self-indulgence..."taking yourself too seriously". I'm no harder on others than I am on myself- if anything, probably less so- but still, my first thought is always: "stop whining and do what you gotta do".

Is that right or wrong? It certainly doesn't seem to be the modern, popular attitude. After all, if you're unhappy, why wouldn't you do all that you can (within reason, and propriety) to make life better for yourself? And just maybe there are really a hell of a lot of people who are so unhappy with this big shithole of a world...so daunted by the multitude of spirit-killing forces and empty possibilities that is the bulk of the modern world...that they need the buffer of a little chemical reinforcement and/ or the structured mental distraction of psychological treatment. How can I deny them that chance happiness, even if I suspect that it is largely illusory?

Like I said, it's quite possible that I could have made my life much easier if I'd found a good counseling/ medication regimen anytime in the last ten or even twenty years. However, I figured that it would be best if I just dealt with my problems myself...and when it gets right down to it, I can't really recommend that course of action. I'm not a success by any standards; I'm nearly broke, nearly friendless, nearly hopeless and joyless, and I don't even get much satisfaction out of the faint pride of emotional self-reliance.

Looking back, it seems pretty plain that the urge toward self-reliance is one of the basic flaws in my approach to life- perhaps the "tragic flaw", in narrative terms. It would have been one thing if I was the sort of person who could really make it on his own. I'd always wanted to be that person, the admirable individual who succeeded against the odds, on his own unique and considerable merits. I always felt ashamed about depending on anyone else for anything...yet I was always dependent. I always wanted to be on top, and I always felt secondary. I always wanted to be going my own way, blazing trails, and I always ended up following.

So I'd always rebel against any perceived dependence, doing things that pushed people away and needlessly complicated my life. Anytime I felt like I wasn't the big fish, I'd jump into a smaller pond, so to speak...until the pond got very small indeed, in fact dried up pretty much completely and left me flopping and gasping on top of cracked mud. So much for metaphor.

If I'd maintained closer friendships and family ties, I'd very likely have a better chance of dealing with this depression thing. My nasty little inner refrain says: "you never had the right family, or the right friends"...but that's all bullshit, when it gets down to it. Nobody's perfect, and there's a definite scarcity of people who will put up with constant neglect and alienation. You want to be alone? Okay, you got it...how do you like it? It was fun for a very little while, but now it really sucks, doesn't it? And you know what else? There isn't a hell of a lot you can do to turn it around now...the old habits and scars are a little too deep. So you're pretty much stuck with it, and it's gonna take a superhuman effort and plenty of luck to get anything even remotely resembling what you've lost...if you even deserve it at this point.

Anybody could have told me that I'd end up lonely and frustrated. There were probably people in my life who did, but I refused to listen. I just knew I was going to come out smelling like a rose someday, and somehow everybody would forgive me and admit that it had all been worth it. All great men are difficult to be with at times, right? Well...humility is sometimes long in coming- and, truth be told, not exceptionally valued or reinforced in our society. That, at least, was one lesson I understood well and early: in our society, you're either a winner or a loser. As long as I assumed I was going to be a winner, I was a fairly shitty human being. Still, it's not much fun being a loser...even a wiser one, with the beginnings of long-neglected humanity and perspective.

The myth of suffering is a powerful one. It may be an essentially Judeo-Christian disorder, or it may be even deeper. There's no doubt that that working hard and overcoming obstacles is essential in building a quality person, and ease and indulgence are very often dangerous. On the other hand, these ideals have been deeply perverted in many ways, both obvious and insidious. Who is completely free of the idea that victimhood is ennobling? Between the against-all-odds underdogs who triumph and the survivors of tragedy and terror whom we venerate, our culture is rife with narratives that reinforce the idea that pain somehow improves you. It's not completely bullshit, of course- there is something about suffering that can often lead to a refinement of the spirit.

However, I suspect that suffering breaks more people than it refines. Again, it's a winner/ loser dynamic; if you're a winner, you get something out of bad experiences...if you're a loser, they compound your flaws. Winners emerge from a tragedy with a renewed dedication to life, and losers use it as a rationalization to indulge their defects. Of course, few people are really either/or...we all have winner and loser characteristics, from Richard Branson all the way to the guy sleeping under the freeway bridge. Most of us are somewhere in-between these two extremes (personally, I feel a lot closer to the bridge guy). Who knows how much any given person has suffered, or what they've taken from that suffering? It's tempting to assume that Branson got a genetic gift and some very good breaks, while the freeway guy got screwed by birth and broken by life...but you never know.

Where the hell was I going with this? Anyway, it's been a crappy few days. I was on the virge of tears through a lot of it, and fell asleep at night half hoping that I wouldn't wake up. I didn't have the interest or energy to do anything, and kept thinking "will it always be like this, and if so, why even keep going?".

But just this moment, I feel okay. I'm not going to assume that it's all behind me; I know better. This could just be a clear spot in the current storm...and even if it really is the other side, another storm will be along sooner or later. I'm getting used to the routine. Not that it's any easier to be in the middle of it, but at least I have enough experience to at least try to remind myself to hang on when it gets rough. It doesn't usually help much, but it's better than nothing.