The D Word

Hey gang. Look! Here I am, doing a thing I said I was going to do! It feels good, and it’s outside the norm for me. That’s not because I’m lazy (although I am definitely that), or because I’m just a big flake – it’s because of today’s topic:

D E P R E S S I O N

***Warning: Things are about to get a little heavy. Depression is, and this may come as a shock to you, depressing. Generally I prefer to stick to lighter fare, but this is something I think is really important to talk about, particularly because of the stigma that still exists surrounding seeking help/treatment. I also think it’s important for me to explain my specific experience with it, since I am not remotely what most people think of when they hear “depression”. There are misconceptions surrounding this topic and how it affects people, and I can only give my account – we’re all different, and no two people experience it in exactly the same way – but I want to give it because I’m not embarrassed, and the only way we’re going to get everybody to feel comfortable discussing it is to discuss it. Enter at your own risk.***

As many of you might be aware, when I was 24 I was diagnosed with depression. Over the years, I have realized that I have been dealing with it for much longer - I had observant high school teachers (thank you, Mrs. Federwitz and Mrs. Abreu) ask me if I was depressed. My dad tried quite a few times to convince me to see somebody about it, but I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to be labeled “crazy” (something that I admit still bothers me), and I didn’t want to have to take pills to feel normal. It seemed like admitting I was depressed would be overdramatic, and would be akin to saying “I’m a big fuck-up who can’t figure out how to be a person”. Stigmas gonna stig.

I gave in when I failed a semester of college. I failed it so hard that I was placed on academic suspension, which I (thankfully) successfully appealed, on the condition that I’d get help. My depression had trapped me - I couldn't get out of bed because I couldn't face going to class, and I couldn't face going because I had already missed it because I couldn't get out of bed...you get the idea. It was a vicious cycle. Wake up, feel too anxious to leave, feel guilty about not leaving, go to work, go to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat.

When I went to the UWO counseling center, I met a woman named Kim Charniak. I told her what was happening, and how scared I was. I sat in her office and cried because I didn’t spend time with my friends anymore and didn’t know what I would do if I was suspended. I cried because I could hardly bring myself to leave the house, and I was always someone who thrived on social interaction. I cried because nothing was fun or interesting to me anymore. I cried because I felt like I was ruining my own life and had no idea how to stop. She assured me that I was not a fuck-up.

What followed was a series of visits to the student health center, questionnaires, and long conversations about my options. The main ways of handling mental illness involve medication, therapy, or, most likely, a combination of the two. Since I knew I could visit the counseling center for free, I opted to try meds and therapy together, and I do not regret it.

A major problem with the way we as a society view depression is that people who have never experienced it tend to see it as an attitude problem. “You just have to cheer up and stop dwelling on it.” On the one hand, I can see that. From the outside just sounds like people are mopey or lazy and don’t want to do things or whatever. On the other hand, motherfucker don’t you think I have tried that already? Trust me, you’re not the first person to suggest that I just stop being depressed. I would LOVE if that was how this worked, and my life would be approximately one thousand times easier.

The simple fact is that this is an issue with brain chemistry. People think it’s stupid to treat things like diabetes with “natural cures” because it *is*stupid, and a really good way to die from something easily treatable. But those same people will tell you that, if you’re depressed, all you need is to meditate, or work out, or get more sleep, or try essential oils. Those things aren’t going to help my brain produce the right amount of serotonin, dude. If we talked about mental illness the same way we talk about physical ailments, holy shit the world would be so much better.

Another thing I’d like to say, and I cannot stress this enough, is that taking meds is in NO WAY a cop-out. Any person who’s ever had to take them can tell you. The first problem is that there are tons of different medications out there, and there’s no way to immediately pinpoint the right one, you have to go by trial and error. And it’s not like “Try this one today, and if you don’t like it we’ll try another tomorrow.” The average antidepressant takes up to 6 weeks before enough is built up in your system for you to notice a difference.

Then you have to contend with side effects. These pills alter your brain chemistry, and many of them carry a risk of suicidal thoughts, which you might notice is exactly the opposite of what we’re hoping they’ll do. Barring that, you might experience increased appetite, decreased appetite, yawning, hiccups, insomnia, irritability, sweating, or a whole host of other weird and annoying shit. My meds make me sweat at the merest suggestion of heat, which I hate, but I hate being depressed way worse.

So meds aren’t easy, but sometimes they are all that works. I mentioned doing meds and therapy, but currently, because I don’t have health insurance, I can’t afford therapy. Even *with* insurance it’s generally still really expensive because a lot of plans don’t place much importance on its availability. Honestly, I can barely afford my meds – without insurance they cost me ~$300 per month, and this is for generic stuff. Thankfully the app GoodRx exists, and I’m able to get them for about $46/month instead. But yeah, that added stress doesn’t make having depression any easier.

My point is that depression is a confusing, debilitating, frustrating, soul-sucking monster that is vastly misunderstood, because it’s impossible to *truly* understand it without experiencing it yourself. It sucks, and I wouldn’t wish it on anybody ever. It is not a thing that can be cured, it’s something that must be treated and maintained over the course of the sufferer’s life. 

Because of my depression, I have trouble keeping plans I make, or making them in the first place. It's not because I don't like you or don't want to see you, it's just that sometimes the idea of having to go somewhere and be a person is overwhelming. I'll stress so bad about social engagements that I legitimately feel sick. I have to take sleeping pills some nights because my brain won't shut up about things I'm mad about, or excited about, or that I just know. I'm hard to be around sometimes, and I'm insanely lucky to have someone as patient and caring as Isaiah, because I know what I'm like.

So why write about it? Because the worst thing we can do for people with depression is keep quiet about it. I won’t. It exists, and it sucks, and I hate it. But I’m not embarrassed or ashamed. This is just how my brain works, so I’m doing what I need to do. It’s ok not to be ok. I want to do my part to destigmatize this too-common condition, and the best way I can think to do that is to run my fucking mouth about it, and we all know how I love to do that.

If you’re depressed, just know you’re not alone. If you need to vent, or want to talk about it to somebody who knows, hit me up. If you’re not depressed and you want to ask me a bunch of questions, be my guest. I want to shine a big uncomfortable spotlight on something that thrives in the darkest places of our collective consciousness. Get at me.

<3