Not Ashamed: Depression (Not Physiologically Caused)

If you haven't already, please read the introduction post. That will give you context for this page.

(Trigger warning: depression, self harm, suicide)

Look at me, actually writing a topic in the posted order! I'm guessing you oughtn't get too comfy with that. But let's appreciate it whilst it happens.

Today, I'm going to talk a bit about when I was depressed for a long while and it wasn't just the bipolar thing. I know that definitions and terms change and that I'm not a qualified mental health professional, so I'm leery of using actual terms. And, when I was seeing the therapist who helped, my mind state was enough a mess that I didn't really file away whatever term she used at the time.

Basically, even before the bipolar hit me (before there were any mania symptoms), the depression hit and hit hard. And I'd probably have been less exhausted for a great deal of my life if I'd not actually been trying to hide that I wasn't okay. Fortunately, someone who saw through me was also able to get me some help.

The great thing about this other kind of depression I was dealing with (and that has probably happened a time or two since...like when my mum died or when certain major relationships ended) is that, thus far, I've been able to work through it. If you read my entry on being bipolar, you get some sense of what depression feels like for me. Just double it...except that, really, it felt more like every day was at my worst times ten.

I felt like I could barely move, it was so heavy. And this was definitely my worst self-harm period. Every day, I felt driven to that. Plus, hey, regular thoughts about suicide. (I'll cover self-harming and suicidal in other entries.) That was if I could keep myself awake or think through the sobbing. When I think of my younger self, of me during that time, I just want to let her curl up in my arms and try to absorb some of that depression.

The best thing I did was get professional help. I'm eternally grateful to the friends who tried to help, especially the ones who were life-saving. But it wasn't quite enough. Which is why I'm a vocal supporter of seeing a professional. (I got lucky with my first one; however, I have moved since and have also had someone who wasn't a good fit, so I'm also a vocal supporter of finding one who works for you.)

We worked together to root out non-physiological causes and amplifiers of the depression. We talked about ways I could make changes and take steps to fix what could be fixed. We spent loads of time on self-esteem issues (which, hey, another future topic or two). And I made some choices.

This next bit is about some realisations and a decision that worked for me. I'm not saying this is the right answer for everyone...but, y'know, if you're running out of ideas....

One day, I remember driving around and wondering who I was without my depression. I wondered if I would even like non-depressed Amber. I wondered if friends would still like her. I wondered if the social scene I was kind of part of would still consider me a legitimate member. I was a little afraid. I realised that my depression was my default state. That this was how I knew myself. That this was the lens through which I had seen the world for a very long time. That this was a large part of how I would describe Who I Was if giving an honest answer. That, in a twisted way, depression was so familiar that it was like a warm (smothering, limiting, oppressive) security blanket. I realised that, in some way, I might actually be choosing to hold onto it for all those reasons. So I asked myself if I actually enjoyed the admittedly horrible feeling of the depression. I asked if I really wanted friends or a social group who would prefer me to feel that way. I asked myself whether I might not prefer the (hopefully) less-distorted view of myself and my world that would come with not being depressed. I asked myself whether I weren't ready to find other parts of who I was and give them a chance to thrive. And then I pulled off the road into somewhere abandoned so that I could sob as I made a choice. I decided that, however much I might fear the unknown, I didn't want to hurt like that any longer. I chose to stop clinging to the depression and gave myself permission to heal.

Now, before one of you obnoxious people who thinks people choose depression uses this as anecdotal evidence...read the rest. This is just as important. (And you are wrong and shouldn't ever suggest people just choose not to be depressed. Seriously.)

After that incident, I did not magically become Not Depressed. I was no longer holding myself back, but I still had to do all the work with my therapist to work through and conquer the depression. I was just not holding myself back any longer. Except when I was, because this was big and scary and the work was hard and took time, and that, in itself, can be depressing. But I still feel like that moment with myself was an important part of my road out of that type of depression.

On the other side...it felt so much lighter. It was amazing!

And then I slipped a little when I realised I wasn't entirely free of depression (oh, hi, bipolar!) and I started to beat myself up and to get depressed that I was depressed. Fortunately, a little help realising that there are some things that I can't totally control and that the bipolar issue didn't invalidate all the hard work I'd done to work through the other stuff got me back to my new normal.

And when other things have happened that have set off depressions, I'm so glad for the work done with a professional. I now have tools and ideas to help work my way through. I've also seen how each depression is unique, so that's helped me not be the sort of prat who assumes that my experience of depression applies to everyone's experience. I try never to force my tools and solutions on others, because that can make it worse.

As with my physiologically caused depressions, this stuff isn't always rational. Even if you can point to the event or thing that caused it, you can't always pin down why that's led to me randomly crying in the middle of a nice day.

I try to figure it out, just in case, but:

You are probably safer not trying to push me to figure it out or to tell you why. Unless you are a mental health professional whom I'm paying to do that.
If I don't figure it out, I don't stress. I know this is a thing that happens and I try to be compassionate to myself as I would others. No need making it feel worse by judging myself for not knowing why.

If you're struggling with a depression, if it's sticking around...whether or not you know the cause, I hope you'll reach out and find some help. If you're getting help but afraid of suddenly losing this big piece of you (cos, let's be honest, when you have depression, it is the biggest piece of your life and feels like you are mainly depression with a few other human characteristics thrown in), I promise you that you will be okay (you will be better than you are now) without it and that you have plenty of other parts that will be able to shine if you give them a chance.

Also, just so we're clear, I'm always a little depressed (except when the deep anger of mania has me). So I'll never judge you if you're depressed. I'll just hope that, like me, you find a way to carry a little less of that load someday.

(If you'd like someone else's take on depression, something with more pictures and swearing and chances to laugh but still pretty accurate to my own experience, I really adore the way that Allie of Hyperbole and a Half does it. Read her Adventures in Depression and Depression Part Two. I've heard people who didn't understand depression before say these helped them feel they kind of got it.)