Most of the difficulties that I have now are side-effects of the medications that I take coupled with much milder symptoms and memory problems. Most of the time I am at peace with myself and my choices.
There have been major issues resolved in the last two or three years. I’m no longer the hermit that I was. After a 32 year phobia of flying, I flew to Paris without a problem and had a great time. I dealt with lifetime issues concerning one of my parents and resolved those issues to my satisfaction. (Now I live with more boundaries and very little anger.) Most of my nightmares about teaching have stopped. (They were always about administrators.) Within the last year I’ve made ten or twelve new friends.
I still don’t get out enough, but I’m working on it.
I think that prozac has allowed me to be who I really am – to resource most of my strengths instead of feeling weak and inept. The counselling that I’ve had in the last sixteen years in particular have been very affirming of who I am. Very encouraging.
I’ve said several times that I wish that the mental health profession would come up with another name for “depression.” That label leads to so much misunderstanding. If you can pull yourself out of it in a couple of weeks, it wasn’t clinical depression.
Maybe there is a link between mood disorders and creativity. I’m certain there’s been research. The archives of art and literature may benefit from great suffering. Artists and writers do not.
My understanding is that unipolar depression can also have elements of anger and anxiety. The main thing that distinguishes it from bi-polar is that it lacks periods of mania or high energy.
This is making me almost suicidal. JOKE! The proof of the pudding is in the eating, though, perhaps, a as people share from the heart on this very difficult subject. I will come back and read it through properly on Monday. Not that I expect, or intend to help anyone (I just confuse them!), but because it’s edifying to read people just talk about something that is like a shadow to many of us for much of the time.
Kythereia, I also have a normally sunny disposition. I’ve also suffered on and off from clinical depression for my entire adult life. Some of it’s situational. I grew up in an emotionally abusive situation and was taught that I was worthless, ugly, useless, etc. That doesn’t exactly lead to high self-esteem. Some of it, though, I suspect, is biological.
It’s been over a decade since I’ve taken medication, but Paxil did work wonders for me when things were at their worst. When I’m slipping over the edge into depression, simply reading a good book, hanging out with friends, or doing the thigns that make life work living don’t work that well, although they can take the edge off of it. Yesterday evening, I was suffering a bout of relatively mild depression for reasons I won’t go into. I’d planned on spending the evening with a gentleman I am ridiculously, soppily in love with. Getting myself together to go and do so took a tremendous amount of effort, and, while being with him eased the pain, it didn’t get rid of it. I’ve developed coping mechanisms over the years, thanks, in part to a good therapist who used a bit of cognitive-behavioural therapy on me, but I don’t have a way of snapping out of it and when I have become depressed, a good belly laugh is as likely to be followed by tears as anything.
OK, fine. So I have this lovely mental illness which still makes me feel worthless, useless, etc. It hasn’t stopped me getting two degrees, doing charity work, having jobs I’ve loved (or hated!) and doing them well, having a circle of interesting, wise, fun friends or otherwise having the things which make life worthwhile. I’ve come to terms with what my father did to me and have a good relationship with him. The only time I’ve missed work because of depression was when it was truly at its worst and I was nearly catatonic from it. I recovered, and I’ve got too much pride to miss work again because of it. Hell, I grumbled at myself for missing work earlier this year because I’d injured my knee and was drugged to the nines for a week! I’ve even survived buying my home, despite having the Realtor from Hell! I put depression on a par with the Type II diabetes a friend has. If I’m not careful, realistically, it could prove fatal. I won’t deny that to myself or others. On the other hand, by monitoring myself, and my moods, there’s no reason it should significantly affect my life or my ability to enjoy it, at least when I’m not depressed. :rolleyes: I’m stuck with it. Fair enough. I’m not going to let it destroy me. There’s still too much in life to enjoy, including the company of that gentleman I mentioned.
I have never suffered from depression, but I have, and still do, suffer from anxiety/panic. And there is nothing, NOTHING, I hate more than people telling me to “get over it, its in your head”. Like im going to say, “Oh…is that all I have to do?”. Dont people think if I could get over it so easy, I would?
I never took meds for my problem, I worked mine thru therapy. And it has done well. I have my bad days, but my good days FAR outnumber them. Any going thru anxiety or depression has my best wishes and prayers!!
Kythereia, here’s what I think is the key thing about clinical depression. It’s not something you can will yourself out of. Lord knows, I’ve tried! I’ve come to terms with the notion that this order is more or less permanent; I don’t regard it as crippling. Finding the will to go out and live life is what’s difficult. Even knowing what your sources of strength are and knowing their available to you, you can’t bring yourself to draw on them. That’s when the blues become clinical depression to me.
After dabbling in a few different anti-depressants over the years, and always going off them and coping on my own after a few months, I finally came to a point where I realize I need chemical help that no amount of positive thinking will provide. I had gone through a really good period of therapy, and had nailed several things that were major depressive triggers. I was feeling really good, and practicing good “mental hygeine.”
And then I just plummeted back into a pit of despair, for no reason. I had no energy, and I was miserable most of the time. It was incredibly hard to make myself do anything. I cried a ridiculous amount of the time. That made me realize - “OK, my brain is just broken, and I need drugs to fix it.” Zoloft has done just that (well, technically it keeps me functioning properly without fixing the underlying problem permanently, if you want to nitpick). Sleep disturbance and sexual side effects were minor and (more than I ever hoped for) disappeared after a few weeks. Unfortunately so did the appetite suppression, but at least it’s a LOT easier to eat right and exercise when I’m sane.
I decided to try going off meds before trying to get pregnant, just to see if I could deal, and avoid any risks to the fetus. I quickly found being unmedicated is an imminent and significant risk to my two-year-old’s mental health and proper development. I just started losing my shit with her over her acting like a two year old (nothing physical, just being really short and tempermental). I’m back on my Zoloft and feeling pretty good about my decision.
One thing that really sucks about depression for me is that being smart is no protection. I think some people suppose if you have a high IQ, you will have lots of insight, and the ability to talk yourself out of depression. Quite the contrary, it’s like my depression seizes control of my intellect for its own purposes. When I’m depressed, I can shoot down any argument that the world is other than an abominable cesspool of suffering, cruelty, and indifference.
Oh, and as to creativity, I am having a renaissance of creativity now that I’m medicated. I’ve gotten into needlecrafts and drawing, after abandoning both for decades. For me, depression definitely sapped any will or energy I would otherwise have directed at artistic pursuits. I agree, though, that creative minds may for some reason also be prone to depression.
I once had an extremely medically, chronically depressed boyfriend who was also extremely intelligent, funny, great at sports, highly interested in Jazz, had lots of good friends, an academic achiever.
I’m pretty sure he’s dead now.
I’d describe his condition as ultimately detrimental to him. His condition was also detrimental to me; I sure miss him, but I don’t miss his nightly suicide watch phone calls.
When he dumped me he sent me into a severe “situational” type depression (ironic, no?). Even at the worst of it I was able to force myself to do things like eat and speak to other humans. That would be the difference between me and him. At times he could no more will himself to feel positively about living than he could will himself to fly.
Well, I’m 27, and I’ve spent about ten years now in a state of nearly perpetual depression. Over the last few months, however, I’ve been starting to think that the fog may be lifting. Well, I’m optimistic about it, at least. Hell, the fact that I’m optimistic about anything at all is a good sign, right?
For the first several years, I tried so many different medications that I can’t even come close to remembering all of them - several SSRIs, Wellbutrin, tricyclics, even Lithium and other medicines that aren’t conventionally used for clinical depression. The only effects I got from any of them were mild sexual side effects from most of the SSRIs. My attempts at therapy have been very limited, as I’ve never had the financial resources to shop around for one that fit my personality. The ones I have seen have been terrible, and usually even less comforting than advice from non-professional friends.
The total lack of results from all of those pills made me feel even worse, since each drug I tried was one more failure, one less option.
Pharmacologically, the only thing I’ve found to be effective in any way is Provigil. I’ve been on it for nearly a year now. It’s a mild and non-addictive stimulant originally used to treat narcolepsy. Since then, its use has spread into several other areas, due to its efficacy and fairly low occurrence of side effects. It’s even prescribed to shift workers and others who may not have any legitimate medical conditions, but need to be awake at times when they would normally be sleeping.
I don’t consider it a miracle drug by any means, and I still often have a difficult time motivating myself, but it does make things a little bit easier. It can give me the kick in the ass I need to do physical activities that naturally make me feel better, and also seems to have a way of ever-so-slowly chipping away at my shyness.
Unfortunately, Provigil is quite expensive (over $200 a month), so if I don’t get a job with insurance soon, I’m pretty much screwed.
Obviously, like any drug, it’s not going to work for everyone, but for anybody else out there who’s been through half the drugs in the pharmacy without the slightest hint of success, you may want to see what your doctor thinks about Provigil.
Have you talked to your doctor about switching to adrafinil? It is cheaper, but I don’t know if it is approved in the US. Modafinil goes for about $5 a 100mg tablet but adrafnil is about $0.80 per 300mg tablet. Since both modafinil and adrafinil are alpha-1 adrenergic agonists maybe any alpha-1 adrenergic agonist will give you these same benefits. As a wag you could try phenylephrine and see if it gives you the same anti-depressant effects.
Right now I’m in the process of tapering off of the Paxil, and so far the change has been positive. I’ve been taking half dosages every other day, and will soon go to every third day. I already have more energy, and feel like I’m coming out from under a blanket. I hear there are some not-so-nice side effects to going off of this med, so I have my fingers crossed.
A little bit of generalized anxiety is sneaking in, usually at night just before I fall asleep. I’m usually afraid that I’ll get into a car accident the next day, or fall down the stairs. Before Paxil I used to obsess about how we were going to go to war and all die, or something like that. Such fun thoughts as I’m going to sleep! :eek: Hopefully I won’t have to deal with too many of those thoughts again.
Sometimes I worry that Paxil masks the “real” me. The neurotic, anxious, depressed me. Or does medication help the real me to come to the surface? Do the meds create the natural balance I’m meant to have, or do they conceal the essence of what I’m all about? :dubious:
I better get some sleep now. One good thing is, pretty much overnight, I am back to a normal sleep schedule. You know, when you sleep at night and actually STAY AWAKE during the day. What a concept!
Ummmmm… I’m not clear about what is being asked either, but I think you want to hear about how people cope.
In the winter I take desipramine, 150 mg/day. It doesn’t seem to be working as well this winter as usual, and I suspect the massive postpartum depression/OCD may have screwed it up for me and I’ll need something new. However, given that there are a number of other factors in play, I’ll give it a few weeks before I decide to try something else.
Anyway, coping. At different points I’ll do different stuff, but I think the main thing is that I am very keenly aware of exactly how much of my life depression has robbed me of in my past, and I will be damned if I’ll let that happen again.
It seriously is a case of get better or die in the freaking attempt. So what I do is make myself do 3 things every day. If I have to drag myself through it or cry or collapse from exhaustion, fine, but I’m fucking getting out of bed and doing 3 things. Things that are real life, not just showering and eating and basic alive human things. I also force myself to talk to at least one friend a day, and go out to a social function at LEAST once a week. Even if it sucks and I don’t want to go, I MAKE myself.
While this may not “fix” my depression, or change how I feel internally, or even help lift that horrible leaden feeling in my body and blank mind stuff, it keeps my life going until I do feel better. Also, eventually doing 3 things a day + going to 1 social event a week will lead to positice things happening- getting a job, meeting new people, whatever. And sometimes those positive events do make me feel better.
In any event, I feel less like a complete loser and like I have been eaten by depression when I can make myself accountable to stay connected and alive.
That’s understandable. When I was on stuff, frankly it hardly had any effect, so far as I could tell - it was either (second-last major time) the goodness and acuity of a shrink, or (last time) my PhD supervisor writing back to me when I told him I was giving up rather than making post-viva changes and telling me it wa a damned shame becasue the thesis was so good. That was March 23. Three months later I’d done the required revisions and now I can call myself “Doctor”.
Am I the oly one who gets helped far, far more by right judgement and commendation than by drugs? How important are others in the process of getting healthy and whole? What power do any “others” (we are all “others” as well as “selves”) have to potentially harm or aid others? (“He who knows what is the right thing to do, but does not do it, for him it is sin”. Too true.)
Good shrinks are very unusual, of course - my good one pissed off back to England. Wiithout prompting, after he got to know me a bit, he referred to the people who had chucked me out of HKU as ‘those fuckers’, which did more for my confidence and spirit than the sort of crap the last eedjit - the one with the WSJ on his desk - churned out. It’s a rum thing when you feel that the fuckwad that’s taking your 300 bucks an hour actually dislikes you! (Though there’s something, I suppose, to be said for the short, sharp shock approach…)
Good Lord, no!!! Mind you, a lot of my issues are caused by an emotionally abusive father who had me convinced I was worthless, useless, and hopeless before I turned 18. Depression skews my judgement to the point where I go back to thinking I’m useless, worthless, etc. You don’t need to condemn me; I’m very good at that myself. What I’m finally starting to get the hang of is the notion that I’m not worthless and that I might actually deserve to be liked and loved simply for who I am.
Let me give you an example. Next weekend, an old friend will be moving. This will be his fourth move in five years, and I’ve helped with all four moves, including taking the week I had between jobs to go up to the state he had been living in to help him move the rest of his stuff (a full U-Haul, plus two cats) back here. For this move, I won’t be able to do much because of some health problems I’ve had this year. Even though both he and the gentleman I’ve been seeing have made it very clear that they want me along for my company, rather than the number of boxes I can haul, I know I’m going to be fighting hard not to think I’m useless and lazy because I won’t be able to do much (ok, grudgingly, any) of the heavy lifting.
As to whether others can affect or even trigger depression, I would say they can for me, although that has become less likely thanks to good therapy. For most of my life, even at my healthiest, I was operating on the premise I was all the horrible things my father said I was with little evidence to the contrary. If someone is angry with me, my first reaction is to assume it’s my fault. It’s early, so the best example I can think of is a flawed one, but here goes. The boss I worked for a year and a bit ago would routinely harangue me for 20 minutes when he would make a mistake. He did this one day at the end of the day because of an issue involving travel arrangements I’d made for him which he’d approved. As I drove home from work, I was nearly in tears and was starting to beat myself up when something dawned on me for the first time. I wasn’t the incompetent one this time! I was still hurt and angry with you, and I feel sorry for my successor on the job, but realizing that I wasn’t the incompetent idiot he was making me out to be was incredibly refreshing and an indication that I might actually be getting myself sorted out.
I’ve been arguing religion since I joined this message board. I am an unabashedly liberal Christian who focuses on God’s love. The reason I do so and one of the main reasons I’m a Christian, not someone who hates Christians, is because the Episcopal Church in the town I grew up in was the one place in town I could find the love and acceptance I so desperately needed. If I’d gone to a church which condemned me because I was weird or because I ask questions or simply because they focus on God’s judgement, I probably wouldn’t be alive and posting here. I am acutely aware of my own sinfulness. I’m acutely aware that I make mistakes and sometimes large ones. I was convinced for years that I’d failed by best friend when I was 14 and that I should have been able to prevent her nervous breakdown. Thirteen years ago, I judged myself particularly harshly and that judgement was that I was worthy of death. I shut down my mind, shut down my soul, and was trying like mad to will my body into shutting down which is how I wound up in a hospital close to catatonic and non-responsive. I’d pronounced judgement and that judgement was death. God, in His infinite and loving mercy, looked at this soul wrapped in a ball of nothing but pain and fear, who was beyond hope or prayer, and reached out to me. Something broke me out of that catatonia; I am convinced it was God. I suppose you could say right judgement helped in that right judgement, as opposed to my own judgement at the time, said I didn’t deserve to die, but even now, I’m not comfortable typing that. I am acutely aware that I am worthy of condemnation and death. What I have trouble accepting is that I might be worthy of love and life. That’s why, when I speak of my faith, I speak of love, life, and, as important, forgiveness. God has forgiven me sins which I still struggle to forgive within myself.
This post is long and it’s close to witnessing, but I wanted to explain why I am the way I am and the things which helped Roger Thornhill could easily harm me. For what it’s worth, I also established once that Zoloft is very definitely and dramatically wrong for me! :eek:
CJ, it was interesting to read your thoughts, and just a bit of your story. And I am grateful to you for helping me realise how unclear what I wrote - in haste before I left work - was.
For the record, what I meant (and mean) by
“Am I the only one who gets helped far, far more by right judgement and commendation than by drugs?”
is actually very close to your position, as I understand it in this post, and also through much else you have written over the past year and a half. So, I’ll have another go. This is what I meant:
“I find that, more important than drugs and professionalised therapy, is the building up I get when someone praises me for doing something well, commends me for it. I’m not much into “being affirmed” (in a professionalied way, i.e. after someone learnt in at a seminar or by reading a book and takes the opportunity to practise it on me), or looking at the mirror and saying “You are wonderful” etc. Hence “right judgenent”, in the sense of having rendered unto me what is DUE to me according to a right and just measure. I find it the most invigorating and anti-depressant thing in the world when someone has the courage not to just to think good things about my abilities/accomplishments but to say them. Equal to it is the thrill I get from commending others in this way.”
Er, I used to be depressed but I’ve been “sober” for a while now.
Just to add to the pool of experience:
I’ve had episodes of depression since I was a child. Usually mild but occasionally incapacitating. I also have mild manic phases. My G.P. and my therapist have both used the term “cyclothymic”, which translates to: “your moods go up and down”. I’ve taken several different anti-depressants, all SSRIs, with varying results. The first, best and current medication for me has been Luvox.
It’s been interesting reading others experience. I can relate to some of it, but sometimes not. One of my greatest difficulties is that I think of my manic phase as my “normal” self – that’s the standard I use to guage how I’m doing. If I’m not head of the class, outshining everyone around me, not just competent but excellent in everything I put my hand to – then I’m not good enough. Not hard to find a reason to doubt myself if that’s the standard.
Part of the problem for me is that I sometimes displace my (unjustified) anger at myself into more-or-less destructive behaviors. Then the behavior causes more anxiety, the anxiety causes more depression, the depression causes more behavior – the well-known spiral.
I’ve had success with a combination of medication and therapy. For me, at least, the medication doesn’t make my problems go away but it does reduce the feelings of helplessness and allows me to work toward a solution.
I’m doing pretty well at the moment. I’ve changed jobs within the enormous corporation that employs me and have left some crazy-making stuff behind. But I carry this nagging fear that it will sneak up on me again. I appreciated the comment someone made about depression being sneaky. It’s a funny thing, init? My wife always knows a couple of weeks before I figure it out.
This has turned into something of a ramble, but I wanted to support everyone out there that’s dealing with depression – it can be very hard sometimes. I remember a quote from the Whole Earth Catalog years ago – “There are nights when the wolves are silent and the moon howls.”
Ooooh, this is so right on the money. I once had a therapist say “If you could think your way out of this, you’d have done it a LOOOONG time ago.” Duh!
Thanks to everyone who has contributed to this thread - I went back and dug it up because I wanted to read through all the similar experiences again to remember that I’m not alone. I’ve been doing pretty well for the last 5+ years, except for anti-depressant “poop-out” - where they work for a while and then stop. My doc suggested BPD might be something to look into because of this, so I went off the SSRIs and am in the process of ramping up a mood stabilizer (lamictal). In the meantime, I’ve learned that when I thought the SSRIs weren’t “working”, they sure weren’t doing nothing! This changeover (why do I do these things in the fall/winter, I ask you) has brought on one of the worst depressive episodes I can remember. It’s like the most wicked, extended PMS ever. The Land of Heavy Sighs.
Reading about other people’s bouts of total lack of motivation and the inability to actually feel enjoyment (it’s a gorgeous day! who cares!) helps. I’ve been isolating myself b/c I don’t want to say mean things to people for no reason.
The thing is, at least now I know I am capable of feeling happy, fun, even-tempered and well-balanced, and I’m hanging on to the idea that what I’m going through is temporary. Before SSRIs, I thought it was just… me. So my strategy for now is to fake it until the drugs kick in. Which they’d better.
Anyway, thanks, all.
And btw, for info on the possibility of bipolar without manic episodes, I found an interesting website here: http://www.psycheducation.org/ While I don’t usually go for health info on the web (except MedLine), this guy says:
Of praise, C.S. Lewis wrote: ‘We delight to praise what we enjoy because the praise not merely expresses but completes the enjoyment: it is its appointed consummation.’ (Reflections on the Psalms)
I’ve come to terms with the notion that this order is more or less permanent; I don’t regard it as crippling. Finding the will to go out and live life is what’s difficult. Even knowing what your sources of strength are and knowing their available to you, you can’t bring yourself to draw on them. That’s when the blues become clinical depression to me.