I'm alive. Apparently.

 I was thinking about this blog recently and so decided to log in and see what was around. 

As we previously learned, journaling didn't really work for me. It didn't have he positive effect I would have hoped for. Quite the opposite, really. And I tried, I did. I gave it a shot, which you can read all about by scrolling. 

Journaling/blogging didn't work for me, but of course, neither did the multiple years I spent on anti-depressants. 

Yes, I'm older. Yes, I still feel like garbage most days. No, nothing helped or, expect, ever will help. Just gotta get through the next 20-30 years and that'll be it.

I will say that looking back at some of these posts I feel stirrings of pride at the quality of some of the writing. So that's something I suppose. I'd like to do that more often, perhaps though not on the same subject matter. 

So hi. Dropping in to say I'm still alive. Perhaps a further update in 2031. 

What was I saying?

I kinda lost my place.


But the losing of my place comes with a couple of interesting observations.  With the new job to which I previously alluded, I have been busier then I have been in a long long time.  This busy-ness caused an unexpected side effect.


Lack of depression.  


Probably it has something to do with distraction.  Which as we have discussed on a couple of occasions, is usually a very good way to dodge a major depressive episode.  Oh how I love those.


So as far as I can figure, the non-stop chaotic nature of my new job has distracted me quite handily from falling into the abyss.  Ahh the abyss.  The Black Dog.  The dark curtain.  The award for most metaphors.  Wait what was I saying?  Oh yes.  Distraction is good as it stops me from going under.


Another interesting observation.  When I'm up, I enjoy and savor being up.  I do a little socializing.  I do a little cooking.  I do a little hiking in the forest.  I become less of a hermit crab.  And one thing I do not have any urge to do when up and functioning... is to write in this space.  It's a reminder that I'm not fully functional  It's a reminder that I live with great pain at times.  It's a reminder.


"So," you are saying to yourself just about now, "If you're feeling better and really don't want to write here when you feel better cause it reminds you....well that must mean.....oh."


Right you are.  Things are deteriorating.  I hate when they do that.  


It's time for the third interesting observation.  When I first started my new job, it was rather like being in a pounding surf, and going under water a bit now and again.  It took all I had to rise above and keep head above water, so to speak.  Now while self-confidence is not my personal forté, I am able to admit to being fairly good at what I do.  That skill has enabled me to rise above the pounding surf, and kind of ride the wave a bit.  Quite normal, I would expect.  The first few weeks of any job can be frantic.  One gets used to the new routine, learns new skills, and gets into a groove.


Except oh-hold-the-phone!  Being in a groove, on top of the wave, and possibly some more analogies I've not yet written, gives my addled mind time to relax and think.  And when my addled mind has time to itself, it tends to malfunction.  And that's where I am.  Slightly malfunctioning.  I can feel the old nasty feelings creeping back into my brain.  They kind of have a cold, numbing feeling.  I don't much like them.  The feeling of disappointment follows close behind, as I thought I had been doing so well.  As I know now, it wasn't real.  Recovery, however slight, was just imaginary.  Depression was waiting in the wings for me.  Ready to wander back into my head when I stopped being to busy to notice.


And so, here I am once again writing in this space, scribbling down my thoughts in a renewed effort to help my mind make sense of what's going on inside.


However.  


I've tasted being vaguely happy, and I want more.

Third Time's a Charm

I had a third post planned for tonight.  It was about the strange things that happen when someone from your past pops up momentarily in a life, and the questions and the feelings that dredges up.  And all about the thought processes all that stuff engenders.  I even alluded to this post when I mentioned brief passing MDEs.


But now it's late and I can type no more.


I'll be back soon with the thrilling conclusion to this strange tale.

But First...

I posted recently about a family member who has recently begun, outwardly at least, experiencing anxiety and depression.  


The update is thus:  said elderly member of the family has been to a Doctor and is receiving help.  Specifics I do not know, but I do know that it's being attended to.  I still feel deep and everlasting shame that I was not able to help.  That won't be muted.  


The story takes a sadder turn now.  The person in question has enjoyed better than average health for someone of that age.  Someone who has been spry, independent, and quite frankly...young.  This person now appears to be approaching a different phase in life.  Physical frailty is becoming more of an issue.  There was a fall.  Then there was another fall.  Then there was a worse one where muscles were pulled , but thankfully nothing was broken.  We all know that's now likely just a matter of time.


For someone who has reached the age this person has, and to have one's health and mind in good stead, we are all supposed, I think, to not be surprised when the downturn starts.  We are supposed to be wistful but accept the transition to the late stages of life as the natural order of things.


But you know what?  No matter how normal, natural, and expected this is... it's still heartbreaking.  Perhaps that too is natural.


What's unnatural is the amplification of the sadness caused by my affliction.

Raining, pouring, etc

Hey.


I have a couple of stories to tell tonight.  One is kinda strange.  One is not.


The Not Strange story is a pretty good one.  It's a followup to my strangely sports-themed post of some days ago.  We spoke of how my department was moving to another part of the country, and how no one was going with it, and how I was going to be taping hockey sticks for some minor league team out in the sticks.


Well.  How times change.  In my unique way of being deliberately vague and yet getting across the gist of what's happening, seems this other championship team in the same major league needed a new head coach.  And so, instead of being sent to who-knows-where, I have had something of a promotion while not having to move anyplace.  Fate moves in mysterious ways.  And thankful I am for it.


In the last couple of weeks I've experience muted joy, which is an odd experience indeed.  I probably should have been dancing in the streets, or at least celebrating in some fashion.  Alas, this dysthymia puts a cork in any exceptional feelings.  It has a tendency to do that.  At least I have been relatively MDE free for a few weeks!  This low-grade depression has a bright side - it just keeps everything, even the bad, down to a dull roar.


I say "relatively" MDE free 'cause there were a few low points.  But that's for two posts from now.

Age Ain't Nothin But A Number

I turn 40 this year.  There I said it.


Since January first, my stomach has churned every time I think of it.  Having typed that I now have to go take an antacid.  Just a second I will be right back.


I realize, on the surface, that it really is only a number.  Technically speaking, I was 40 a few months ago, if you believe that live begins at conception.  So the 40th anniversary of my birth is really just another day.

Except it isn't.  Catastrophization or not, this is becoming a huge depressive trigger for me.  I'm middle aged.  No, seriously, I am.  I can't expect to live much past 80, so 40 is halfway there.  Middle-aged it is.


It's a reminder that the first half of my life has not been of much use.  As we have discussed, I've dealt with depression most of my life.  I have not had what you might call a "happy" life.  I've just managed.  I've kept gainful employment, I have kept my physical health, I have family and friends.....but it's been a hard slog through 40 years.  I feel worn out.  


The last thing I want to do is celebrate my birthday.  I want no cards.  I want no presents.  (I make a decent living and don't need anything.)  I want no cake.  What I really want is to get on a plane, go someplace where no one knows me, and have a normal day being a tourist.  Anywhere but here. 


Celebrating my life seems so empty, so pointless, so fake.


I've expressed my wishes to family and friends, but probably unsurprisingly, people think I am being ridiculous.   I've asked that if they feel the need to buy a present, give something to a charity.  Make someone's life better...someone who really needs something.    The last thing I need is more material goods.  The second last thing I need is a loud reminder of the first rough, hard, unpleasant half of my life.  A reminder that I have to go through that length of time... one more time.


Of course, I could always look at this as an opportunity to make sure the second half of my life doesn't hurt as much as the first.  There, see, I told you a positive ending would show up eventually.

And Another Thing

Oh wait, there's more.  


The previously mentioned life crisis compounded by depression (and a full moon) is just one thing.  


Couple weeks ago I find that someone in my family is experiencing extreme episodes of anxiety and depression.  That person is elderly and unfortunately not able to take medication.  Of course, that person also comes from a generation where mental health problems were thought of very differently.  


"It's a weakness."  "Don't be silly."  "Just get over it."  "We don't talk about such things."  You know how it goes.


I want to be able to say, "Hey.  I know how you feel.  I feel the same way.  It's OK to talk about it with someone.  You aren't alone.  There is help available.  It's not like it used to be.  Me too."


But.


I cannot physically make myself do it. 


I have had an up and down life, thats for sure.  Nothing, however, has ever made me feel more failure than my inability to offer support to others who are saddled with this horrible affliction.  


No one knows the extent of my condition.  No one except me.  The fact that I can't share...quite frankly, hurts.  The fact that I can't share and help make a loved one feel maybe a bit better, devastates me.


Devastation at work, and devastation in the family.  This is not a good recipe.


There is a positive point, albeit not for me.  The elderly family member in question is now suffering in silence.  The immediate family has discovered something is wrong, and I know someone else is helping that person get help.  However I am sure that help would be enhanced by some understanding and support from me.  I have failed to be a good person. Dammit.


I'd say the question of whether mental health problems can be genetic has been answered for my family.

Now That You Mention It

I've been reflecting for the last ten minutes, while I ironed a shirt to wear tomorrow so I can make sure everyone's hockey sticks are in tip top shape.


I've been thinking about the message, the purpose of the Mental Health Blog Party and I think that even though I'm in a disastrous place right now, I gotta make an effort to join my fellow bloggers in getting the message out.


Here it comes.

The purpose and the message is this:


Good mental health is so very important.  I've never had any, so I am just going by other people's opinions here, you understand.  However I know what I feel I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.  So I have to assume, and believe, that good mental health is something to be striven for.  To work at.  It's eluded me so far, but it won't forever.


Regular readers will know I've been this way for some time.  I've made efforts at getting help too.  Tried a few different drugs, visited with a retired psychiatrist who doesn't seem to acknowledge that he is in fact retired, the story goes on.


After five years on various drugs that kept me from feeling the darkest of dark but also kept me from feeling extra-positive, I decided to go it alone.  It's not gone well.  I don't know what to do.  For me, drugs are awful things that make a mess of my insides, do little for depression, and kind of put a filter on everything else.  You may (I hope) have better results, but my next step is a mystery.


But here is what I do know.  You gotta try.  If I hadn't started the process of asking for help with my Doctor five... oh my it's been six years ago now... I'd probably not be around.  Now I am in a precarious place but I know more about the process, more about how drugs affect me, and more about how I can control the dark feelings.  Most times.


You gotta start someplace.  Mine's not the most inspiring tale of recovery, but it is a tale if, "this is a long process and not all things work for all people so you might have to try more then one."  Which really, is a rather long title for a tale.


You've heard all the usual things, "tell your Doctor," "tell a friend," "call a help line," and so on.


I'm going to tell you to do something different.  Start reading.  learn all you can about how you feel and why you might be feeling it.  I'll even give you a starting point.  All the posts for the May 18th Mental Health Blog Party are a great place to start learning, and reading, and hopefully, recovering.  You don't even need to scroll up... I'll help you out here.  I know I have a lot of reading ahead of me.


Once you are better informed, your choice on what to do next might be clearer.  At the very least you should be able to understand what's going on.  And that's a big portion of the battle.


Carry on, friends.

So it turns out...

...that today is the Mental Health Blog Party.  I'm not sure the three posts I wrote today (the second two are appearing over the next few hours) will qualify under the criteria... but there's some stuff worth checking out at the link.

http://www.yourmindyourbody.org/mental-health-month-blog-party-2011-round-up/

Turns out it's mental health day.  I never knew.  Glad I posted a few things anyway.

Waiting For the Hammer To Fall

It's that time of the month again.  The time of the month where I experience my bouts of lunacy.  Lunacy not helped by meeting the most wonderful person.  A person off-limits, but a wonderful person nonetheless.


But this post isn't about being lonely.  Just setting the stage with that one.  That's the kind of state of mind I've found myself in.  Lunacy supreme, plus a long-lasting dysthymia that just will...not...go...away.  Needless to say, I am not a happy camper.


Thus we come to the reason for tonight's story.  About a month ago, I found out that the department I work for is being relocated.  Clear across the country.  Inconvenient to say the least, since I am lucky enough to live near family, friends, and home.  Then part two was revealed.  No one is going with the department.  It will be staffed on the other end.  Here's where you should envision a long slow, "okaaayyyyyy".


Now, hurray for me and my staff, they have decided that they like us and will absorb us into other departments.  Good news?  Seems like it on the surface.  Let's face it...these days it's nice to have a job.  Finding out you have one after a major change is somewhat comforting.


Life continues.


Until late last week.  The redistribution of jobs was announced.  I don't want to get too specific, but let's say I was the Captain of an NHL hockey team.  (I promise I am not).  Relatively speaking, I have gone from being the Captain of a major league team to equipment manager in the minor leagues.  Actually, strike that, I was probably the equivalent of an AHL captain.  (That's one step below the NHL.)


It's at this point you should know that I'm using sports analogies and I am not even a sports fan.  At all.  I think the NHL is in playoffs right now but couldn't say for sure.  Hockey just seemed like a good universal example.


So here I am, an equipment manager in some regional sports league.  I'm a pretty good "hockey player".  I'm not one of the best in the world, but I am good at my job.  My old job.  I am not a particularly good equipment manager.  It of course doesn't matter much as I am now in the minors where no one is really good.  We're a collection of people who plod about dreaming of being in the big leagues someday.  Some are on their way up to the majors, some have been there and are in the twilight of their careers.


I do not wish to be anyplace close to anything resembling twilight.


Probably one of the only bright spots in my life has been my work.  It's a field I love, and have loved for a long time.  I derive a great deal of satisfaction from my work.  I wouldn't have dreamed the day would come where I am considering leaving the business.  I also know that depression-addled decisions can be, to say the least, ill-advised.


Needless to say, I am close to devastated.  Mixed in with the aforementioned lunacy and low grade depression, I am not in great shape.  I now have to make a Large Life Choice(tm).


Do I change careers?  Trouble with that is that I work in a pretty specialized field and lack broadly transferable skills.   Do I stick around, and be the best damn equipment manager no one has ever heard of? Trouble there is that I won't be deriving the same job satisfaction from taping up sticks.  I am likely to be really frustrated, really quick.


Or do I check with the other coaches in the AHL and see if someone can used a slightly bruised but capable Team Captain.  Trouble there?  You bet.  Then I would have to move someplace where I have no family, no friends, and I would be all alone.  From a mental health perspective, that might not be the right option.


There's been tears, there's been anger, there's been shock, there's been a kicked-in-the-guts kind of a feeling.    I try to end each post with something hopeful, but I haven't got it in me tonight.  Check back.