Sometimes this thing happens to me where it feels like I am completely removed from my body. I call it "fuzzing out" because everything looks fuzzy when it happens. It's really difficult to shop for groceries while fuzzing out. I couldn't even focus on the list.
They say depression is an illness. A chemical imbalance in the brain. I wish I could believe this. If I could I might not feel so bad about having depression, but as it is, part of me has always believed that depression is just an excuse. I think that's what people like my father believe. People who get up and go to work each day no matter what. No excuses. No sick days.
The truth is, most of the time I think depression is a form of clarity. A glimpse of the true nature of things. There's nothing chemically wrong with people who are depressed; We are simply able to recognize the pointlessness of our own lives. We are overwhelmed with the insignificance of it all.
I know there are things that make it seem worthwhile. People I love, writing, singing, my cats, beautiful summer days.
What I can't stand is the daily grind of life. I can't get up each day and go to work, only to come home again, relieved that work is done for the day, only to return again tomorrow, and the next day, until the weekend comes and goes and the whole thing starts all over again. What's the point? To pay the bills, of course. We exist to work and pay bills to keep ourselves from drowning in debt. What fun.
I think I admire my Dad more than anyone else in the world. He has a traditional staunch German work ethic. If you're feeling grim about your life, you pick yourself up by your bootstraps and carry on. Is it a disease that this attitude was not instilled in me? Will taking a pill provide me with a work ethic? Every anti-depressant I've taken has made me want to throw myself off of a bridge (even more so than before). I'd rather feel my life as it is. I'd rather just feel my life.
It's ironic, if I didn't have depression I'm sure I would have finished college by now, and maybe I'd be doing something that I really enjoyed and I wouldn't be depressed anymore. It's like the question could only be answered if it didn't exist.
They say depression is an illness. A chemical imbalance in the brain. I wish I could believe this. If I could I might not feel so bad about having depression, but as it is, part of me has always believed that depression is just an excuse. I think that's what people like my father believe. People who get up and go to work each day no matter what. No excuses. No sick days.
The truth is, most of the time I think depression is a form of clarity. A glimpse of the true nature of things. There's nothing chemically wrong with people who are depressed; We are simply able to recognize the pointlessness of our own lives. We are overwhelmed with the insignificance of it all.
I know there are things that make it seem worthwhile. People I love, writing, singing, my cats, beautiful summer days.
What I can't stand is the daily grind of life. I can't get up each day and go to work, only to come home again, relieved that work is done for the day, only to return again tomorrow, and the next day, until the weekend comes and goes and the whole thing starts all over again. What's the point? To pay the bills, of course. We exist to work and pay bills to keep ourselves from drowning in debt. What fun.
I think I admire my Dad more than anyone else in the world. He has a traditional staunch German work ethic. If you're feeling grim about your life, you pick yourself up by your bootstraps and carry on. Is it a disease that this attitude was not instilled in me? Will taking a pill provide me with a work ethic? Every anti-depressant I've taken has made me want to throw myself off of a bridge (even more so than before). I'd rather feel my life as it is. I'd rather just feel my life.
It's ironic, if I didn't have depression I'm sure I would have finished college by now, and maybe I'd be doing something that I really enjoyed and I wouldn't be depressed anymore. It's like the question could only be answered if it didn't exist.
posted by Heidi Bloom at 2:36 PM
3 Comments:
Hideous, vicious cycle. Antidepressants could be helpful. Are you a redhead?
I'm not a redhead by defintion, I don't think, but there are hints of red in my hair.
I've been on my share of antidepressants and truly believe that in my case, they make things a lot worse. I know they work in some cases, but it's not something I ever want to put myself through again. I'd rather just ride out the bad times.
Riding them out could work. Maybe that fuzzy feeling could be enjoyable in some way. Thanks for visiting me in my world.
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