Depression
I have a great life, better than I'd have the right to ask for, but I've spent a lot of it miserable for at least two reasons. One is a lack of serotonin, the happiness chemical, which is why a positive attitude couldn't fix the problem. Another was the fact that American culture thinks being autistic is a disease, which is why medication couldn't entirely fix the problem either.
I'm sharing this so that if you have a loved one who deals with depression, maybe you can have some more insight into what it's like and how to help them. I don't claim to speak for all depressed people, especially seeing as I have a lot of issues besides this and I'm not sure how they all overlap. One thing I can say with confidence is that when people told me I controlled my emotions and could just choose to be happy, I found it ignorant and patronizing. Attitude is important but brain chemistry isn't just for decoration. That isn't to say that happiness is impossible to achieve, but it takes a lot of effort and isn't helped much by feel-good platitudes.
When depression hits me, it feels like a black hole in the vicinity of my heart, sucking in all good feelings (and my threshold of good feelings dropped over time from "joy" to "happiness" to "pleasure" to "contentment" to "not being depressed at the moment"). At times my attempts at having a positive attitude are like a spaceship near the black hole. I have to keep my hand on the throttle at all times just to break even. If my hand were to slip for even a second, the black hole would pull me back several meters, and that lost ground would not be regained. Under no circumstances would I actually break free from its gravity, so it was just a matter of how long I could last before I surrendered and let it suck me in.
I'm told that I was a happy baby. Then my sister was born when I was two years old, and that changed. Why, I can't say. I was two years old. But my first memory of depression, the first real indication that something was amiss, was at the age of six or seven. Nothing particularly bad had happened that I recall, but I was fantasizing about my future, and that future involved me sitting on a park bench in the rain without an umbrella, alone and unloved. Left to die, one might say, except that my thoughts didn't travel there at the time. They did eventually, though. I was bullied a lot in elementary school, and soon had what I felt was ample reason to leave this mortal coil. I never had the guts to try it.
My parents saw what was happening and intervened with therapy and medication. I tried at least four types of antidepressants, trying to find one that didn't give me an upset stomach or something. They helped, to be sure, but never all the way, because by then I had firmly shifted my attitude to the pessimistic side of the spectrum. The therapy was interesting. Most significant was a group setting where most of the guys were there for anger issues and beating people up, which didn't help much because my own anger issues of childhood had (mostly) dissipated by then. They were good guys, though, and offered to beat up anyone who gave me a hard time at school. For privacy reasons I was adamantly against making the shift to a co-ed group, but once we did it wasn't so bad after all.
I'm sharing this so that if you have a loved one who deals with depression, maybe you can have some more insight into what it's like and how to help them. I don't claim to speak for all depressed people, especially seeing as I have a lot of issues besides this and I'm not sure how they all overlap. One thing I can say with confidence is that when people told me I controlled my emotions and could just choose to be happy, I found it ignorant and patronizing. Attitude is important but brain chemistry isn't just for decoration. That isn't to say that happiness is impossible to achieve, but it takes a lot of effort and isn't helped much by feel-good platitudes.
When depression hits me, it feels like a black hole in the vicinity of my heart, sucking in all good feelings (and my threshold of good feelings dropped over time from "joy" to "happiness" to "pleasure" to "contentment" to "not being depressed at the moment"). At times my attempts at having a positive attitude are like a spaceship near the black hole. I have to keep my hand on the throttle at all times just to break even. If my hand were to slip for even a second, the black hole would pull me back several meters, and that lost ground would not be regained. Under no circumstances would I actually break free from its gravity, so it was just a matter of how long I could last before I surrendered and let it suck me in.
I'm told that I was a happy baby. Then my sister was born when I was two years old, and that changed. Why, I can't say. I was two years old. But my first memory of depression, the first real indication that something was amiss, was at the age of six or seven. Nothing particularly bad had happened that I recall, but I was fantasizing about my future, and that future involved me sitting on a park bench in the rain without an umbrella, alone and unloved. Left to die, one might say, except that my thoughts didn't travel there at the time. They did eventually, though. I was bullied a lot in elementary school, and soon had what I felt was ample reason to leave this mortal coil. I never had the guts to try it.
My parents saw what was happening and intervened with therapy and medication. I tried at least four types of antidepressants, trying to find one that didn't give me an upset stomach or something. They helped, to be sure, but never all the way, because by then I had firmly shifted my attitude to the pessimistic side of the spectrum. The therapy was interesting. Most significant was a group setting where most of the guys were there for anger issues and beating people up, which didn't help much because my own anger issues of childhood had (mostly) dissipated by then. They were good guys, though, and offered to beat up anyone who gave me a hard time at school. For privacy reasons I was adamantly against making the shift to a co-ed group, but once we did it wasn't so bad after all.
Suicidal Thoughts
I've had two varieties of suicidal thoughts over the years. The first and far more common variety are those where I feel unloved and ignored, and resent people for it. I've thought with pleasure about the prospect of killing myself and making them feel horrifically guilty. This, of course, is mostly about self-pity and a selfish desire to get back at others, so the risk of actually doing it is virtually nonexistent. The second variety, though, happens when I'm in such great pain that I really and truly yearn to escape, and give it actual consideration. For a long time the main factor in dissuading me was the commandment against it and my desire to not be eternally punished. I resented God for that. Another factor was my fear of failing in the attempt and being in a world of physical as well as emotional pain.
The one time that I attempted suicide, I hardly realized it had happened because it seemed so surreal. I was in Mountain View Tower on USU campus, on the fifth floor where I lived, mulling over the revelation that a girl I was interested in had a boyfriend. Suddenly I ran into one of the empty study rooms and over to the window, intending to hurl myself out of it, but there discovered that it only opened a few inches. I pushed and swore at it for a few seconds, then stopped and realized, What the #@$% am I doing?? And then life went on as usual. Under rational circumstances, such a trivial thing would never have driven me to even consider suicide. And in considering suicide, jumping would not have been the preferred option, since falling is the most terrifying feeling ever and I wouldn't want to survive with a bunch of broken bones. Obviously my mind was just not functioning well at the time, and the girl thing was merely a catalyst for all the stuff that had been building up.
The one time that I attempted suicide, I hardly realized it had happened because it seemed so surreal. I was in Mountain View Tower on USU campus, on the fifth floor where I lived, mulling over the revelation that a girl I was interested in had a boyfriend. Suddenly I ran into one of the empty study rooms and over to the window, intending to hurl myself out of it, but there discovered that it only opened a few inches. I pushed and swore at it for a few seconds, then stopped and realized, What the #@$% am I doing?? And then life went on as usual. Under rational circumstances, such a trivial thing would never have driven me to even consider suicide. And in considering suicide, jumping would not have been the preferred option, since falling is the most terrifying feeling ever and I wouldn't want to survive with a bunch of broken bones. Obviously my mind was just not functioning well at the time, and the girl thing was merely a catalyst for all the stuff that had been building up.
Very Slow Recovery
In 2010, at my first and only Especially For Youth, I received an unexpected blessing. For the first time I felt that I fit in, that I belonged. Normally in any setting there's a severe disconnect between "me" and "everyone else", and never the twain shall meet. It doesn't matter how friendly or accepting people are. And it's not always a horribly unpleasant thing, sometimes it's more subtle; but it's constant. Yet this was a different experience. I was socializing comfortably and successfully and for the first time girls my age were describing me as "sweet" as opposed to "weird" or "creepy". And maybe that's why I was finally so happy. This was in addition to a spiritual high. I didn't expect the feeling to last beyond the week, but it did, and I spent the next year being constantly happy.
I assumed that since the medication hadn't helped me before, it wasn't helping me now, so a year later I phased myself off it. I'd just moved to Utah and understandably there was some culture shock and I didn't feel like I fit in. I also slipped off the straight and narrow, staying up until two in the morning, not praying as consistently, and getting involved in pornography, something I had never dreamed would happen. Because I'm heteromantic it wasn't "normal" porn and I sincerely believed that it wasn't porn at all. I soon realized that I needed to give it up anyway but I had no idea the consequences it was having on my brain. Anyway, as these factors came together, my depression began to return, and quickly. I paid it no attention. Everyone is sad sometimes, and I hadn't been for a long time, so this was normal, I told myself. But it wasn't. It continued to get worse and as it did, I numbed my feelings with porn but also just the internet in general, becoming fully addicted to both.
I had a really, really crappy year due in large part to my own denial. Those memories are the elephant in the room that is my mind - they're fully accessible, but I won't touch them. Still, I'm grateful in retrospect that things got as bad as they did, because eventually I could deny it no longer. I had more or less turned my back on God, but still He didn't intend to let me stay miserable forever. He was just waiting for me to turn back to Him and do something about it. The ensuing process unfolded over months, then years. In October 2013 Elder Jeffrey R. Holland gave a landmark General Conference talk about depression. Though I was somewhat annoyed for a while that it hadn't come along ten years earlier, I very much appreciate it and the repercussions, visible even within my own little sphere of influence, on how these issues are viewed within the Church.
I assumed that since the medication hadn't helped me before, it wasn't helping me now, so a year later I phased myself off it. I'd just moved to Utah and understandably there was some culture shock and I didn't feel like I fit in. I also slipped off the straight and narrow, staying up until two in the morning, not praying as consistently, and getting involved in pornography, something I had never dreamed would happen. Because I'm heteromantic it wasn't "normal" porn and I sincerely believed that it wasn't porn at all. I soon realized that I needed to give it up anyway but I had no idea the consequences it was having on my brain. Anyway, as these factors came together, my depression began to return, and quickly. I paid it no attention. Everyone is sad sometimes, and I hadn't been for a long time, so this was normal, I told myself. But it wasn't. It continued to get worse and as it did, I numbed my feelings with porn but also just the internet in general, becoming fully addicted to both.
I had a really, really crappy year due in large part to my own denial. Those memories are the elephant in the room that is my mind - they're fully accessible, but I won't touch them. Still, I'm grateful in retrospect that things got as bad as they did, because eventually I could deny it no longer. I had more or less turned my back on God, but still He didn't intend to let me stay miserable forever. He was just waiting for me to turn back to Him and do something about it. The ensuing process unfolded over months, then years. In October 2013 Elder Jeffrey R. Holland gave a landmark General Conference talk about depression. Though I was somewhat annoyed for a while that it hadn't come along ten years earlier, I very much appreciate it and the repercussions, visible even within my own little sphere of influence, on how these issues are viewed within the Church.
Dark Humor
During my emotional trials and still to this day, I have loved dark humor. Anything that mocks the perceived futility and injustice of life has resonated with me and made me laugh, and I think there's some deep psychological reason for that but I can't articulate it so I won't try. Marvin the Paranoid Android is my hands-down my favorite Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy character. "Do you want me to sit in the corner and rust, or just fall apart where I'm standing?" "Wearily on I go, pain and misery my only companions. And vast intelligence, of course. And infinite sorrow." "Pardon me for breathing, which I never do any way so I don't know why I bother to say it, oh god I'm so depressed."
Dark humor isn't a healthy permanent solution to one's problems, but in my opinion it's appropriate insofar as it doesn't desensitize one to the real suffering and losses of others. They say laughter is the best medicine, and certainly when the alternative is to cry or scream it has a certain appeal. When life gets too difficult it can keep us (or me, at least) from having a nervous breakdown. And since our present suffering is temporary, and death is not the end, I don't want to treat either with undue respect. By mocking such taboo subjects you rob them of the power to make you miserable. Someday I want my tombstone to say "I told you I was sick" and my voicemail to say "I'm dead, so don't bother leaving a message after the tone". My last words should be, "I feel like my whole life has been leading up to this moment."
Dark humor isn't a healthy permanent solution to one's problems, but in my opinion it's appropriate insofar as it doesn't desensitize one to the real suffering and losses of others. They say laughter is the best medicine, and certainly when the alternative is to cry or scream it has a certain appeal. When life gets too difficult it can keep us (or me, at least) from having a nervous breakdown. And since our present suffering is temporary, and death is not the end, I don't want to treat either with undue respect. By mocking such taboo subjects you rob them of the power to make you miserable. Someday I want my tombstone to say "I told you I was sick" and my voicemail to say "I'm dead, so don't bother leaving a message after the tone". My last words should be, "I feel like my whole life has been leading up to this moment."