Depression: Periscope Living

I had dinner the other night with a friend that is relatively new to this depression life. Not new to living with depression, but new to understanding it, claiming it, working on it. Its always interesting to hear someone’s take on anything new. In any situation, a pair of fresh eyes can open up a whole new perspective. She had recently started taking anti-depressants, and she said they were helping.

“But I noticed something,” she said.

“What?” I asked.

“Well, since I got on the medication, it’s like I’m looking at life through a periscope. In the circle in the middle is normal life. I can see it, participate in in it, and understand the difference between depression and what, in my mind anyway, everyone else was feeling and doing. I can stay there for a while. But I must keep my eyes on the circle. Because just beyond it is the cloud. I can see it too, in my peripheral vision. It’s always there, waiting for me to lose focus on the circle and rush back in.”

“Wow,” I said, sitting back. “That is maybe the most accurate description I’ve ever heard of what depression is like.”

“Does that ever go away?” she asked. “Like, after I’ve been on it awhile, is it easier to stay focused on the periscope view? Or is the fog always there?”

I thought about it. I wanted to lie to her. Tell her it does get easier, more effortless. Some days it feels more effortless. Some days it feels really hard. Some days the fog obscures the circle.

“Not in my experience,” I said. “I’m sorry. I wish I could say it does. Anti-depressants don’t make the depression go away, at least not for me. It just makes me more able to recognize it. It clears up the fog, to follow your analogy. I can tell the difference now, and I am better at keeping the fog outside the circle. But it’s always there, and I have to work all the time to keep it outside my view. If I slip, it comes rushing back in and you have to clear it out again.”

“Well,” she said with a note of irony, “That’s fucking exhausting.”

Yes. It is.

I don’t tell you this so you’ll feel sorry for me, or for her, or anyone you know that deals with depression. I don’t want you to think I’m being dramatic or looking for attention. If I have your attention, I’d rather it be for my writing or something I’ve accomplished, not because you feel sorry for me. Depression is not who I am. But it is something I live with. It colors my normal. It always has. I can look back, now that I’ve been through (and continue to do) a lot of therapy and have found a medication that works for me, and see that I probably should have been aware of it all the way back into childhood. It wasn’t something talked about or known about back then. That’s why I write this. Because it’s Mental Health Awareness month and being aware begins with being honest. I have depression. Millions of us do.

Sometimes I have no reason for being down. I’ve always been prone to bouts of emotion. I was told as a child I would grow out of it, but I never did. I internalized that for many years. I thought I just wasn’t growing up like I should, or I was too emotional, or broken, doing it wrong somehow. Sometimes staying in the “normal” periscope takes everything I have. I’m putting on a happy face, for myself and others. Then when it all collapses people are shocked, disappointed, and disbelieving that it has been that hard for that long. Because we don’t talk about it. That isn't to say that people with depression don’t have real reasons for their emotions. We do. We have life’s ups and downs just like everyone else. We have hard marriages, job struggles, insecurities – all the things everyone else in the world deals with. Some of our darker times may come from very real things. But most likely, even when those things happen, we’re better at hiding it. We’re masters at hiding what’s bothering us or that things are hard. We often can’t explain just then why it's hard. How do you explain something you don’t have words for? The fear of being a broken record sometimes keeps us from sharing. No one wants to be the one who always has drama. There have been many times I said nothing, or said I was “fine”, because I’ve already talked about what’s going on. I often feel it must be exhausting to be in my life. From talking to others who battle, I know that’s a common feeling.

So yeah, it’s fucking hard. Sometimes harder than others. Some days it's not as hard. But I’ve come to realize that much of what makes me, well, me, comes from the truth that it isn’t always easy to be me. I have a great sense of empathy. A little more patience when people are struggling. A higher tuned antenna to notice when something is not right. That’s also exhausting by the way, being an empath. We tend to take on others pain and want to fix it. That’s another blog post and another layer of boundary therapy. But I’ve come to learn with age and a crap load of counseling that there isn’t a mistake in the way I was made. The world needs all kinds of people, and those of us who struggle with the “every day” are sometimes the ones that keep the extraordinary alive. We are the ones who never grow out of a good song, the written word, keep our imaginations, keep the colors alive. We write the books and sing the songs and dance the dance and paint the canvas. We love love, and joy, and happiness, and tend to over-celebrate them when they come around. But can you really over-celebrate love? Shouldn’t someone remind the world to be in love with love?

That creativity, that beauty, comes with a price. No one asked us if we wanted depression. And thank the Higher Powers for modern medicine that helps us discern the difference between the fog and the periscope. But I bet if you ask us, any of us, we wouldn’t change the creativity and beauty for the “everyday”. It’s what we know. I always seem to quote Glennon Doyle when I write, because more than any other public figure I follow, she gets it. One of my favorite quotes of hers is “People ask me why I cry so often. I say its for the same reason I laugh so often. I’m paying attention.”

I would not give you back my depression if it meant I would also lose my love of writing. My hard-won honesty that does not have time for bullshit. The way I can tell if someone is hurting. The absolute euphoria that comes from sharing something I created with the world and knowing it helped someone. The way I feel when I love. I wouldn’t trade the highs just to get rid of the lows. I would wager none of us would. We are the creatives. We paint the world and you need us. In some of my darkest times I have produced the words I am the most proud of.

But it’s also nice to be understood. To be given a little extra grace on hard days. To have the freedom to say “I’m going through a rough patch” without fear of labeling or stigmatizing ourselves. And without trying to be fixed. We’re not broken. So that’s why I write this. So, you’ll maybe know a little bit more what it’s like day to day. And for you, reader, that also lives with depression, know you’re not alone. Do the work. Find a therapist, take meds if it helps, and be honest with people who love you. We live in a world that is ever changing and becoming more accepting every day. Don’t lose hope, reach out for the tools available.

It’s fucking exhausting.

I just love saying that because it is the best way to describe it. Sometimes my brain and emotions and heart literally JUST NEED A BREAK. When that happens, I’m learning the best ways for me to cope. I’m learning them all over again because this journey doesn’t end. You will have different things that help at different times in your path. But we can do it. I know that we can.

Periscope living is not for the weak, that’s why I know how very strong we really are.