I Think My Depression is Winning

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

I’m tired. I’m just plain tired.

I’ve had clinical depression since I was thirteen, and probably before that. I was hoping it was situational because my life has always more or less sucked, but now, I’m beginning to think this is just the way I am.

Some short background. Family? Drunken Mom and Dad with a girlfriend. They stayed together because, I don’t know, that’s what you did back then. Plus, I don’t think Dad would’ve willingly supported us without a huge legal hassle, and not even then. Mom and I didn’t have the stomach for that kind of battle, so we just put up with it. So while Dad was out fucking, Mom would get drunk and scream at me. Mostly for being lazy and inconsiderate and, oh yes, being related to my Dad’s family. I’m half-Latvian. Mom fucking hated that. I wasn’t going to be a good hard working German like her. I was going to be a lazy good-for-nothing Latvian, and be a bum all my life and quit school, she could just see it. I never wanted to do homework or do chores. Why did she ever have to get married? Why didn’t she just stay in Alaska? She could’ve gone into unassigned territory in Alaska, and be a Pioneer for the Jehovah’s Witnesses. But no, she had to get married, and wind up with me, and I was so fucking lazy and inconsiderate and just like my father, and I hated school and so I was going to drop out and be just like my no good father and my no good aunt and my no good grandmother and on and on into the night.

I did hate school. But I wasn’t stupid enough to drop out. Why shouldn’t I hate school? It was filled with misogynistic sexual harassing assholes. Sure, I begged to stay home sick every other day. One year, forty-four days. But I passed. I was smart enough to get through it. But I was having panic attacks and I was sure I was going slowly insane. Didn’t matter. I had to go, through all the filthy talk and the dirty pictures and notes, and the sniggering laughter behind my back, and sometimes in front of me, with the teacher right there not giving a shit.

And the Witnesses? Oh, be merciful, turn the other cheek, just ignore them. Remember, this is all Satan’s World, and of course Witnesses are going to be persecuted. We should be proud to withstand the disdain of the Old World. The hatred of the Old World. You are no part of them. You belong to Jehovah God, you belong to Us, you belong to your Parents, and you belong to your future Christian Husband who you will of course be in loving subjection to, as he will assign you honor as the weaker vessel, and he will lovingly guide your every step as your Spiritual Head, and you will be worth more than corals because you are a capable wife, and your craving will be after your husband, and he will dominate you, and…

Well, that was childhood. I have to break now. My switchboard relief is coming on. I’ll be back soon.

2

I’m back.

Anyway, round about 1990 or so, Dad comes down with a genetic mitochondrial disease that leaves him bedridden. And I stick around because he needs somebody to lift his two hundred plus pounds in and out of bed and on and off the toilet and in and out of the tub and so on. Well, at least he’s not out fucking. He does try to phone the slut at least once that I know of.

After five years of this, Mom has a stroke. So there I am, lifting and hauling and washing and feeding and serving the both of them while holding down a full time job for another five years, until Dad dies. At least Mom doesn’t drink anymore. But the lifting and hauling and washing and feeding and serving while holding down a job goes on for another nineteen years, until Mom dies at 91. I’ve more than proved I wasn’t lazy to her, I suppose. She never apologized, but she had dementia, so I just shrugged off the past like I’ve always done.

So now, I’m alone. And I’m tired. I just don’t care. I used to write, but Covid closed down the writer’s group and I don’t care for fucking Zoom meetings. I go to work and sleep most of the weekends. I eat at the the same two restaurants, and I sit at a Starbucks. The house is filthy, but I don’t care. Because I’m lazy. Fuck, work all week and then do chores all weekend? Fuck no. I’m fucking tired. I don’t care. My job is hanging by a thread because the new software is doing most of what I used to do, and when they can my ass, I won’t have the strength to look for work at sixty years old. I’m just so fucking tired.

The depression is winning.

3

I’m not a doctor, but it sounds like you’ve surmounted incredible obstacles. Be gentle on yourself. You deserve to talk to yourself like you would a best friend.

I’m sure your emotions about your mom and dad are complex at best. Get help if you can; if you feel like that’s too much, just keep putting one foot in front of the other until you can. Doing one thing - just one little thing - might help, even if it’s just tossing one scrap of paper in the garbage. Please, please post again.

4

No you’re not !
You’re tired, and it’s not surprising.
:hugs:

5

Well damn. I would also like to hug you, @Two_Many_Cats2. Wish I had something more to offer, but @overlyverbose has wise words.
I can tell you’re a writer.

6

It’s certainly not just the way you are. It’s the incredibly heavy, awful burden your parents placed on you. It’s the (healthy) anger towards the people who treated you so unfairly–the very people who should have nurtured and appreciated you–and the church members who not only turned a blind eye but exacerbated the whole situation with some really terrible perspectives. You “shrugged off” the anger in order to do what you felt was your duty, but shrugging it off doesn’t make it go away; IME, it makes it turn inward. And the mirror your parents held up to you was as warped as a fun house mirror: how could you see yourself for the good person you really are when you had to see yourself through from their twisted views?

It’s no wonder you’re emotionally exhausted and depressed. Yet you’re a hard-working person with a strong sense of duty and a lot of talent, and you deserve to feel better. You’re worth the effort of therapy and the benefits of medication. Please don’t delay.

If you need help finding a therapist, please call the Treatment Referral Routing Service hotline at 1-800-662-HELP (4357). It’s a free government program and is available 24/7.

And please let us know how you’re doing.

7

Yikes, that’s rough.

I come from an extended family of Witnesses, so I know what that’s like. My experience is that most people deny or dismiss how dysfunctional that culture is, because they’re so numerous that it’s a lot less hassle to classify them as “annoying religious group” than “large and abusive subculture.” But they are, and if you were raised by a Witness or ex-Witness, that’s a special and unique kind of trauma. It’s tough to overcome.

The family issues and the Depression are separate but intertwined. I second the idea of getting help: psychological help to blunt the trauma of the family stuff, because Depression will use it against you. I don’t know what to say about the depression itself: that’s a tough monster to fight. But it’s not always on the ascendant.

Don’t clean the house: clean a sink, or a three-foot square of floor. One thing at a time. You can do anything for five minutes. Or pay someone to clean: what’s more expensive, two hours of a cleaner per week, or a hospital stay? Whatever your place is like, they’ve seen worse.

Also, full-time work at 60 is tiring. It’s okay to be tired! We live in a society that blames us as individuals for systemic problems. You don’t have enough time to work full time, shop, cook, and clean. You just don’t. None of us does! So don’t worry about that—some things have to slide.

8

Me again.

Thank you all for your wisdom and your virtual hugs. I’ve been wanting to post this thread for a long time.

My depression which has always been there has been feeling different lately. In that I’m not feeling much. Everything feels very muffled and detached. Although I will admit, I did drop a tear or two in typing this screed this morning. Now I’m just numb. As usual.

I am on medication, under a doctor’s supervision. But I’ve only spoken to him through phone calls once every three months, and all that happens is my medication gets tinkered with. Usually by upping the dosage by a half a pill or so. I’m stable. Really freaking stable. Boringly stable, so I guess I should be grateful for the lack of drama in my life.

I’ve tried the talk therapy with five different therapists over the years. I get tired of going over the story again with a new one, and the end result is mainly the same. “Oh, how dreadful. You must’ve been so sad. Remember to take care of yourself. Did you do what I recommended during our last visit? Uh-huh. Well, try it again, and let’s see how it goes. Time’s up. Have a nice day.” I always left with a feeling of vague disappointment. That’s when I was still feeling stuff, not like lately.

It scares me a little. My cats do cute stuff around me, and I don’t care. I still pet them and talk to them, because they like it. I’m forcing myself to read books, but it’s not like it used to be, where I would immerse myself into it. Television sucks, but I still watch it. I’m not really that hungry anymore, but I’m not losing weight or anything, so I guess I’m eating enough. I sleep, a lot on the weekends. I get up, feed the cats, go back to bed until three or four o’clock sometimes. I do a chore or two, washing clothes, doing dishes, scooping the litter box. A trip to the store. A restaurant meal. Starbucks with the book I’m trying to read. I try not to remember that I used to write at Starbucks.

I’m not sure what my point is here. Maybe just that I am still here. So thanks for listening.

9

It sounds like you’ve got anhedonia, meaning you feel numb, don’t find pleasure in anything, and are depressed or even suicidal. @nelliebly is spot on with everything she says. You’re a strong person and you’ve had a very rough time. I had a period of 2 years with anhedonia. Medication pulled me out of it. I know it can be hard to motivate to do anything, but I do think you should talk to your doctor about changing your medication or getting a referral to a psychiatrist.

I also send {{{hugs}}} and spoons.

10

Sounds to me like it’s high time you took care of yourself. You’ve been taking care of others (and putting up with their bullshit) all your life. Now it’s your turn. Take some time, keep in touch with your doctors/therapists but also find a local friend who has your back. A coworker, neighbor, anyone you can face to face with for even two minutes a day, maybe a short walk down the street with them.
Also, as one writer to another, I’m going to say this: WRITE IT OUT. You’re a good writer - I can see by your posts - so write. Write. Write. Make a story about you, or your situation, or a fictional character in your shoes. Change the circumstances to have an ending you’d like to have seen. Then make another ending, and another. Even if it isn’t publishable, it can help. Writing can be a very good balm.

11

I am made of questions and suggestions. But anything I’d suggest is only what has helped me, and you’re not me and I don’t know you (I mean, I’ve seen you around, but we haven’t listened to music together or anything…)

So here’s a {{{ hug }}}

I resist hugging in real life, and I think I’ve never done this on the interwebs before. Sorry if it was awkward. Still trying to get used to being human. It’s not my thing but I figure, ‘what the hell’ right? OK, I gotta go now.

12

I’ve sorta been there. Until a few months ago, I was on disability for chronic depression. I find the right pills are miracle workers. I also find it useful to personify my depression and confront it- largely by yelling at it.

I agree with all of the above advice- especially just focusing on washing one dish or cleaning one small area.

13

Is this doctor a psychiatrist or a primary care provider? It makes a big difference. PCP’s are sometimes pressed into service because there’s a shortage of psychiatrists, but depression and trauma are simply not their areas of expertise. Also, if the doctor is only talking to you on the phone, that’s not sufficient. A psychiatrist needs to SEE you, not just hear your voice, so at the very least, your appointments should be via Zoom or FaceTime or whatever app lets the psychiatrist see you.

Almost all therapists are trained to deal with depression, but not all have a lot of experience with adults who suffered extreme abuse as children and into adulthood. On top of that, some therapists are simply better than others, just as some teachers or musicians or electricians are better than others. And when you DO find a therapist who’s a good fit, therapy is still a long process. After all, it took decades for you to reach this point. It shouldn’t take decades for you to feel better, but nobody gets better in a matter of days or weeks, and nobody gets better without hard work. Think of a good therapist as a guide, not a repair person.

A psychiatrist familiar with your history might be able to recommend a therapist with the experience to truly help you. I wish it didn’t take much effort, as people suffering from depression typically don’t have much energy; however, you’re well worth it.

14

I’m sorry you’re having such a difficult time. A lot of my clients and students have found workbooks from New Harbinger Press that are a better fit for them than counseling, at least at times. Might be worth looking at.

15

I’m so so sorry.
Dysfunctional family stuff is a big hurdle.

I agree with @nelliebly as well.
She’s a smart cookie. Take her advice.
Grieve for the person (old you)you’re leaving behind and find a way to welcome a ‘new’ you.

16

Hugs to all. I made it to another weekend and I’m going to bed. I’m glad you’ve all cared enough to speak encouragingly to me. Thanks.

Nelliebly, I will try to get face to face help, and susan I think I will look into the workbooks you recommend. Inigo, your virtual hugs aren’t awkward at all.

Again, thanks everyone and good night.

17

I don’t have anything constructive to add, but i do want to add my virtual hugs. Depression is rampant in my family (genetic), and it just sucks the energy out of you. But sometimes hugs help. So I’m offering them, if your want to accept them.

18

I’m the same age as you and also deal with depression. I have no answers. I ended a few friendships and now have no social life. I hide my black pit of despair with gallows humor and pretend I’m a normal functioning member of society. I’ve been getting into Russian science fiction novels lately, and Russian writers seem well acquainted with depression.

I went to DBPA support group meetings for a couple of years, and it was enlightening to hear what others went through. It became counterproductive after a while, though. There was some infighting going on, and a couple members committed suicide. One girl survived cancer and was angry at them, because she had much worse life experiences than they did. What else do you expect from the mentally ill?

One thing I picked up from those meetings is to celebrate the small things. Were you able to brush your teeth today? Victory! Did you retrieve your mail? Victory! Did you take all your meds in one sitting? Victory!

Just think, you were able to write about your pains and draw this much interest and positive support. Victory!

19

Ditto, to both parts of that.

20

Well, today was a better than average mood day. Thanks all, especially for the hugs.