Okay here’s a little sampler of what depression isn’t; it isn’t because something bad has happened in your life. I am a living example of that myth put to bed. Nothing bad happened, as a matter of fact I just graduated from Oxford on Monday; this should be every Christmas that ever was wrapped together in the world of self esteem. That ‘I’m so happy I could burst thing’ lasted one day, today is Friday and I’ve recognized only this morning that I am going down the rabbit hole of sanity. Even I, who thinks I’m such an expert on those who are mentally unwell took a full 3 days to realize my thoughts are turning sick and vindictive that comes with the infection of depression.
Thoughts are the signals of the illness, there’s no other way to recognize it. There is no lump, no rash, no scar as proof, only warped, vicious thoughts. They start off rational enough then I start looking through my contacts list at how many people I know and then decide I need to call them all immediately. I do this probably out of extreme fear that I’m disappearing and will shortly be forgotten by everyone in the world. I feel death is imminent (another bad sign). I start with a few ‘how are you’ calls and then like a flood-gate opening, they become obsessive; I call people while I’m driving, sitting on the loo, shaving my legs and cutting them by accident because my hand is dialing on the phone. I’ve also started to answer every email that’s ever been written to me for no apparent reason, hoping they won’t be answered so I don’t have to answer them back.
I could tell I needed to call a doctor because this morning after insisting on an x-ray for everything I went to pick up my glasses from the shop at 7 in the morning and parked outside waiting for it to open on a double yellow line with the blinkers going and trucks honking at me to pass the one lane road. While I was sitting there meditating I realized I needed help so I’m going to the doctor now. There is solace in this that I am aware the black dog is back but may only stick around for a little while; at least I know and that’s a gift.
Thoughts are the signals of the illness, there’s no other way to recognize it. There is no lump, no rash, no scar as proof, only warped, vicious thoughts. They start off rational enough then I start looking through my contacts list at how many people I know and then decide I need to call them all immediately. I do this probably out of extreme fear that I’m disappearing and will shortly be forgotten by everyone in the world. I feel death is imminent (another bad sign). I start with a few ‘how are you’ calls and then like a flood-gate opening, they become obsessive; I call people while I’m driving, sitting on the loo, shaving my legs and cutting them by accident because my hand is dialing on the phone. I’ve also started to answer every email that’s ever been written to me for no apparent reason, hoping they won’t be answered so I don’t have to answer them back.
I could tell I needed to call a doctor because this morning after insisting on an x-ray for everything I went to pick up my glasses from the shop at 7 in the morning and parked outside waiting for it to open on a double yellow line with the blinkers going and trucks honking at me to pass the one lane road. While I was sitting there meditating I realized I needed help so I’m going to the doctor now. There is solace in this that I am aware the black dog is back but may only stick around for a little while; at least I know and that’s a gift.
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