The Grate Depression

After a very long hiatus, the wonderful Allie from the webcomic "Hyperbole and a Half" has returned with "Depression, Part Two," a follow up to "Adventures in Depression." Before I go further, I cannot stress enough: I really like these posts. Anything that helps to normalize and destigmatize depression is wonderful, and Allie does it with authenticity, vulnerability and humor in fantastic ways.

The part that elicited the strongest reaction from me, though, was the pervasive sense of powerlessness throughout. Specifically, the sense that depression is just something that "happens" to a person, like one's own personal black rain cloud that follows you around for no reason.

"The Hundred Acre Wood's drought was finally over. BUT AT WHAT COST?!"

I realize that this is the way it feels. That no matter how hard you try, you cannot care. That all of your actions are shrouded in this persistent feeling of incompetency and meaninglessness. That you are alone and your attempts to reach out to other people are met by misunderstanding and incessant problem solving. Everyone encourages you to be "happy" or to "fix it" in some way or another and each time you think "Fuck you! If this was just about choosing to be happy I probably would have done that by now don't you think?" Allie's metaphor of the "dead fish" is beautiful because it so aptly illustrates how people really do want to help, but they're trying to help with the problem they think is there not the one you're actually grappling with.

Indeed, often times you try so hard and hate yourself so much (as wonderfully illustrated [haaah] in Allie's first depression comic), and you find yourself simply incapable of feeling better and hating yourself for your failure to do what "should" be so very easy. Someone at the Counseling Center yesterday said she's been trying to live by a quote to the effect of "Don't let your best days always be in the future," meaning that one should try to find a way to make now be the best. And I love that idea and hate it because I so desperately want now to feel good. However, as you have probably noticed if you've been reading any of me for the past ever, despite trying so very hard I have yet to find a way how to make it so.

I'm trying, goddamn it!

And this is where my reservations come in. It feels like it's happening for no reason and no matter how hard I try I can't shake it. But I also firmly believe that, at their core, depression and anxiety are adaptive. Biology/brain chemistry may predispose us to them or exacerbate them when they arise, but these conditions are not solely the creation of brain chemistry. Brain chemistry may open a gate wider than those found in other brains and brain chemistry may make what we find on the other side more difficult to endure, but we still on some level decide to walk through.

It's important here to be clear: I don't think people choose to be depressed or to be overly anxious. Those things suck, unambiguously. But I do think people choose to stay in situations where they are unfulfilled. I do think people choose to not express their anger towards others. I do think people choose to direct disproportionate anger towards themselves. I do think people choose to remain constantly vigilant for threats to themselves and their loved ones. I do think people choose to be incredibly afraid of the judgment of others. Etc. And I do think those choices have negative consequences which often manifest as depression and anxiety.

The important distinction here, again, is that it's not necessarily that a person wants these bad consequences. But they choose to engage in behaviors that elicit them because the alternative, in their minds (and usually heavily informed by their experiences), is worse. Living in fear gives them some sense of control that they can prevent something terrible from happening. Not expressing anger allows for less conflict with others (avoiding the punishment expressing anger brings). Fearing judgment of others helps keep you from doing things that incur that judgment and its consequences. Etc.

All of these choices are valid. They are not arbitrary or stupid: they make sense and we get something from them. For instance, it was "better" for me to direct my anger at myself than express it to my father because doing so would only end up with me hurt more. I felt miserable, self-loathing, and guilty, but I also gained some control and safety. At the time, those were more important.

So too, it's not someone's "fault" they are depressed. This is not about blame. I made that choice (although it felt less like a "choice" and more like a "necessary adaptation") when I was younger, and even though it did immense damage to me, at the time I really think that was better than the alternative. No one else can judge what is an acceptable risk or the "best" course of action for you to take regarding decisions that affect only you. Hypervigilance to protect against risks may be what you need to feel like you can exist in the world and even as it's incredibly stressful and scary, it might be what you need to feel like you can stop horrible things from happening (usually again). It's not anyone else's place to say whether the stress is worse than giving up that sense of control.

However, I also know that as I have gotten older and my circumstances have changed, the consequences have increasingly been outweighing the benefits. I'm still really afraid of the consequences because I know so painfully what they can be, so change is coming really hard. Yet I've increasingly learned that change is the only way for me to get what I want from life (to wit: close, meaningful relationships and to be a good therapist). That's more important to me than the benefits of this pattern, so I'm trying to do the very hard work of changing.

Sometimes change happens when we explicitly decide to give something up in order to get something different. For instance by giving up the pursuit of perfectionism, we risk and likely endure some disappointment in exchange for less anxiety and guilt.

Sometimes circumstances change and we don't have to make the choice, such as when your partner in a toxic relationship breaks up with you and after initially mourning you feel better without them.

Or sometimes something happens to make the choice easier, such as "My therapist listened to me and supported me; I feel safer because someone is on my side, making the potential consequences of taking this new action less hurtful so I can choose to take it now."

But, at the core, I think we are still making choices, even if the results hurt a whole fucking lot. And deciding that some actions, consequences and risks are better than what we currently have is often how change happens.

I don't know Allie, and I don't know what's happened to her or why she's depressed. I know that not feeling things sucks. That it's frustrating and confusing and feels so damned hopeless. That it feels like it has no reason. But I also know that not feeling often feels better than being hurt (like you were when you did feel, whether you did that damage to yourself or someone else did it to you). I know that it often inoculates from fear, from disappointment, from rejection, from anger. I know that it's a way to protect one's self from fully engaging difficult questions about the purpose and meaning of one's life. Etc.

I don't know if any of those things are happening for Allie. It would be presumptive to guess. And I fully believe that it feels beyond her control. But as a therapist and as someone who's had decades of depression for herself and her family, the brain chemistry black cloud model is just intolerable for me to accept. I have to believe there's a reason. I have to believe there's hope, that change is possible. That Allie can change.

It may not matter that we find the reason; there are options for change that happen when we get certain things we've been lacking that make change seem almost inexplicable. Maybe medication may help. Maybe she'll make an epic pilgrimmage to the corn palace and she'll experience a moment of existential transcendence that will prove to her that though she is but one kernel in the great cob of life, it is the kernels that make corn possible.

I don't know. And maybe this is more about what I want to be true than what actually is. But I really do believe there is a place for hope in depression. And this is how I've found mine.

Kernels of wisdom, cobbled together throughout the ages
as humanity stumbles through this maze we call life.

Feelings Work #1

[I'm going to try something I suggested to a client to prompt better exploration of affect: starting entries "with I feel <feeling word> word." I've been trying to write otherwise, and I just keep getting lost in my thoughts, so maybe this will provide a bit more focus or at least a decent drive to finish a post.]

I feel sad. I feel sad because I'm alone. I don't want to be alone. But there aren't really that many people I'd want to be with anyway. That's a polite way of saying there's no one in my life I want to be with, which is true and it isn't.

It's not true because I also feel really anxious. I feel anxious all the time. It's not always obvious (I hide my feelings well), but I'm worried most of the time. Usually, it centers around all the things I'm not doing. I haven't got my classes planned, I'm not doing x for y person, I've done z to q person and I feel guilty about not properly atoning for it etc. And the worst offender: my predissertation and dissertation aren't done and I'm behind schedule and if I don't finish them when I have the chance I won't get out of Knoxville in time and I'll wither away here and disappoint everyone who knows me because I'm so mediocre and far behind and I won't ever actually get out of this PhD program or this goddamn city and I won't ever form a meaningful relationship with another woman because I can't seem to find anyone I really fit with here and, basically, I am a failure and a disappointment who is destined to be unloved and alone.

Did you catch all that? Kinda spiraled out of control pretty fast, didn't it?

I carry that around most all of the time I'm not working on something else. It's why breaks tend to be so depressing/anxiety provoking: all I do is think about all I'm not doing and then I try to avoid all of the negative feelings that come from all the anxiety of not doing things which makes me get even less done which makes me more anxious about not doing things which, well, etc.

And the worst consequence of not getting something done is disappointing people. I am terrified of disappointing and hurting people. It's one of the reasons I hate gifts and Christmas: I am so terrified I will do something wrong or disappointing with gifts that I'd just prefer not to have anything to do with any of it. I absolutely hate receiving gifts because that puts pressure on me to give gifts which makes me even more anxious about disappointing someone.

It's one of the reasons I don't like to touch people. I'm afraid of doing something wrong and disappointing them or making them uncomfortable or hurting them. It's one of the biggest reasons I don't get close to people: I'm terrified of disappointing them. I push them away so I can't disappoint them. And it's exhausting and it's isolating and it's saddening, but it's so.much.better. than failing them.

Of failing you. Because if I fail you or disappoint you or do something wrong, you'll leave me. Or you won't tell me and you'll resent me for it. Or you'll remember it and hold it over my head and I'll never be able to atone or redeem myself and it will forever be a blight upon me.

I would rather be alone than deal with the incessant prospect of failing you.

That's not the only reason, of course. I'm afraid of you failing me, too. I'm afraid of you not understanding me, not protecting me, not supporting me, not knowing what I need. I'm afraid that you'll let me fade away because I'm not really that important to you. Just like I don't let you be that important to me, so that when I fail you and you leave it won't tear me apart like it does when those I've cared about left.

I'm sad that I'm alone, but it's better than the alternative. I'm terrified of disappointing you, so I don't let you get close enough to need or depend upon me or expect anything from me. And I'm afraid that the only way I know to break out of this cycle is to find one person who loves me so I can't disappoint her because she values some essential part of me, loves *me* and no matter what she'll keep loving me and I'll keep loving her (and because I love her and provide value to her, it constantly atones for all the ways I'll fail her). And what's scary about that is that everyone I've loved like that has left me anyway and it was never because I disappointed them, but because I was unhappy or distant or "too good."

So I know that means that I need to like myself and not be unhappy and be somewhat selfish and take risks by letting others get close. But I can't seem to make that happen because I'm so scared all the time of how I'm going to disappoint and hurt others. And I just don't know how to stop it. I don't know how to break one part of the cycle so the other parts fall into place.

So I feel sad. And anxious. And afraid. And all of these things are so much worse for the fact that I don't know if or when they'll ever be anything different.

Quitting the Self-Hate Habit

There's a theory of psychotherapy that operates under the assumption that all beliefs and actions serve purposes. Usually, these beliefs/actions were at one point adaptive to the environment one was in, but in other settings they prove maladaptive and ultimately cause various levels of distress to the individual and those around them. It's a particular useful approach to take when an individual holds onto a maladaptive belief/habit even when much of them knows it is harmful and wants to let it go. Under this thereotical framework, that belief/habit clearly serves some kind of purpose and the trick is to figure out what, exactly, that purpose is and then to help the client decide if they genuinely want to give up what the behavior brings them.

For me, I think I've narrowed much of my anxiety down to "I deserve to be punished." Worthlessness is a part of that, yes, but it's not that I believe no one cares for me or that I am absolutely devoid of value. Instead, it's that no one should care for me and no one should value me because I am bad and wrong and need to suffer for being bad and wrong.

I think that's why I fantasize about vicious suicides instead of just wishing I didn't exist so the pain would stop. Suicide is a way of telling myself "No matter how bad I am or how much I fail, I can always kill myself so people will know how sorry I really am." It's one of the reasons I think I get a masochistic thrill about being so open about my pain: you can see I'm unhappy and know how bad I feel about how wrong I am.

So what does having people know I feel bad accomplish? Some theories:

1. It minimizes the pain I cause because I feel bad about it. [In the way that when people acknowledge they're wrong things tend to hurt less than when they never apologize or admit fault <--- aka trying not to be my father]
2. It minimizes the need of others to punish me for my failures because I'm punishing myself. [<--- trying to avoid my father's wrath by preemptively assuming guilt so he won't feel any of it, causing him to have a violent meltdown]
3. Part of me believes that being so abusive to myself will help me not make similar mistakes in the future. [<--- common reason for anxiety/worry, part of perfectionism]
4. Minimizes disappointment in me by reducing expectations
5. Makes criticisms less painful because they're not as likely to surprise me/you can't pop a deflated balloon. [guess]

And, to a certain extent, much of this is true. It's harder/"not as needed" to hit a dog that's cowering with its tail between its legs acting ashamed than it is to hit a dog that's snarling or unaware of its behavior. In sports, the NCAA will reduce punishments for programs that punish themselves first. We relish seeing the arrogant/successful fall, but not those who have already fallen/are already suffering. Internal pain mitigates external pain, and, as a child, mitigating external pain was a significant priority.

But now, it's harming my performance. The pressure I put on myself, I put on my clients which reduces my ability to be patient and empathize. The anxiety I cause myself promotes procrastination and causes stress to my entire body, making sickness and fatigue much more likely. My need to distance myself from others make intimacy significantly difficult. And, interestingly, as my self-esteem rises, I direct more of my internal criticisms towards others (i.e. if I'm doing this and I'm terrible, surely you can do it too so stop failing).

I am tense, I am distant, I am unhappy, and my professional growth is being impeded if not undermined. And, truly, it's that last part that's fostering my desire for change: my own unhappiness is, obviously, necessary and appropriate [eyeroll at self] but when my behaviors hurt others then they obviously need to be changed.

I dunno. Self-hate is a difficult thing to give up. But I might be on the verge of convincing myself that I genuinely need to change. Here's hoping.

Perfection and Procrastination

Procrastination's always been a problem for me. It's a problem for many, if not most, people. On a fundamental level, it makes sense: the act of work, itself, is harder than not working, or else it wouldn't be "work." Why wouldn't we put it off if we could?

 But it's often more than  a simple aversion to effort. For me, it's also hard to do work when you feel like you're failing as you do it, when you feel that no amount of work will take what you've made and make it satisfactory. It's partially an aversion to effort, certainly. But it's also an aversion to imperfection.

It took me awhile to get the perfectionist connection to procrastination and to myself; I assumed that a perfectionist would be the sort of person who labored intensively for hours trying to get every last thing right. And, for some, that's the case.

But then I had a conversation with my therapist
Me: "I often notice my clients repeating patterns or behaviors, and I think 'if you could just stop doing that, you'd be so much happier and healthier.' Do you have that experience with me?"
Her: "I sometimes wish that you could stop being so much of a perfectionist and just give yourself a break."
Me: "But how could I be a perfectionist? Pretty much everything I do is miles from perfect."
<two second pause>
Me: "Oh, right. I see your point."

The fear if imperfection fuels my procrastination. I put things off because one cannot worry about creating inferior material when you literally have to work at that moment or not get the damn thing done. Procrastinating until the last minute is what saves me from having to experience doubt, fear, and failure.

So what can I do? A friend posted a link about forgiving yourself for procrastination being the key, but I think that addresses a symptom not a cause. The really hard, and more important, thing, is to forgive yourself for being human: to accept that you will inevitably make mistakes and to instead find virtue in the attempt.

I've been learning that, slowly but surely. I delayed reading my adviser's response and making changes to my IRB application for eight days. I could have put it off longer, but I pushed myself to just sit down and do it. It took me maybe 45 minutes. After having it weigh on me for eight days. And you know what? It felt good to get it done. It felt good to do the work.

It felt good in the same way that Physics 101 and AP Calculus II did, because I had to actually work to get the concepts. And, when I did, I felt like I'd really accomplished something. It's what I loved about (pre-abstract) math: you do the work, you can eventually get the right answer. And it's what I hated about Chemistry/science: you do the work, and real world variables can still screw it up.

But that's also why I left Math: Partially because it was so time-consuming and hard. But, more importantly, because it didn't feel real (at the levels I was at). There are not perfect answers in life. You can check an answer in Math, but it's much harder to find anything approaching that certainty in the questions of who we are, what we want, and how we get it.

Tackling procrastination is just as much about tackling my inherent feelings of worthlessness. I need to learn how to see value in work, even if the results aren't perfect. It's appreciating the challenge of a paper. It's being present with clients, not fixing them. It's caring about someone, about myself, even if, someday, everything ends. It's getting hurt, and accepting that that's the cost of a life lived.

But that's me (for the moment). What's your relationship to procrastination? If you do it, why? If you don't, why the hell not?

Playing the Long Game

[As a reminder: I write very similar entries, since there are a relatively small number of things that I'm really working on/that affect me emotionally. Part of writing so many similar entries is a catharsis and part is to keep a record of how things evolve and change. And this entry is definitely more evolved than some in my past]

My anxiety, in a nutshell:

1. I want to be in a relationship.
2. I am not.
3. My father is the most miserable person I know, and perhaps his most fatal flaw is a lack of introspection and action to try to make his life better.
4. I am terrified of becoming unhappy like my father, so I take personal responsibility for the things going wrong in my life, such as being single, and constantly strive for ways to remedy the situation.
5. Every moment I am single is *my fault* and evidence of *me not doing enough,* yet another step in the long, hard path towards becoming my father.
6. Anxiety.

Five of my six clients are in relationships. Most of my friends are. And, on the face of it, it really makes me wonder what, exactly, is wrong with me.

Of course, talking to my therapist, she points out that most of the folks in relationships she knows aren't exactly happy and healthy. She herself had a 25 year marriage, only 10 years of which were any good. And those ten years were mainly products of drugs and alcohol. I'm at the stage in my life when people start getting into significant long term relationships, but there will likely come a time when the nasty divorces and perpetual dissatisfaction and feelings of being "trapped" and "settling" start to arise for many too.

Indeed, I tell myself I'm playing the long game. Short term patience for long term results. I'm not a serial monogamist, my loneliest does not prompt me to force things that I know aren't right. I've only really felt comfortable as Juliet since last July (nine months), and I didn't fully get over my last star-crossed love until probably December, if then. Since August, when I started internet dating, I've talked to two people significantly and had sex with/kind of dated one of them for a few weeks. For some people in bigger cities with better queer populations, that's not much, but it's not nothing for a neo-lesbian in Knoxville either.

And truly, increasingly, my angst is not a matter of "am I good enough." I incrementally believe more and more that I'd make a really good partner for someone.

Instead, it's mostly a matter of finding someone I fit with. I've written before that so much of this anxiety is about the uncertainty. I've asked myself "if I knew I'd meet someone and fall in love (not a "forever" but at least a "love now" kinda thing) in a year would that be ok?" In two? In four? Is this a matter of faith and patience?

And, so too, there are questions of whether I'm putting myself out there enough, of whether I'm going to the right places and doing the right things. Is this a matter of approach?

I think I know the answer. I'm one of the more active people I know. Dating is slow, but it's not nonexistent. And sometimes it just takes a really long time before you meet the right person. But staying open to her and being honest about one's self are the best ways to find each other when the time's right. In other words, it's faith. Something of a gamble, certainly. But I think the reward's too great to not bother playing.

Even More of the Same

I haven't posted in quite awhile. And I haven't done it for the best of reasons: that things were going well and I didn't have a need for the outlet. Writing for me, usually, is about purging and analyzing. And when things are going well, I don't really need it.

But they're not going well now. I'm crying and hurting and confused and I don't really have anyone to call or talk to. Of the small handful I'd consider contacting, at 10:50p they're all most likely in bed. So I'll write. And hope it's enough for me to be able to get to sleep tonight.

I have horrible trust issues. I think that's pretty easily established. I am afraid of letting anyone in because it sets me up to be hurt and disappointed. And honestly? It's entirely justified.

Every relationship I've been in has ended in what, to me, was a surprise. I'll think things are going well enough (and I swear, the feedback I get tends to indicate it), and then, suddenly, I'll find that I'm too "honest" too "draining" too "caring" and I'm alone again.

I swear, is it just my imagination that there are people and relationships where the individuals involved talk about and try to work through/compromise about their differences?

I hate being alone. I hate it so so much. I don't understand why this all has to be so hard. It just... it just doesn't seem like it should be this hard.

And now my chest is tight and my heart is beating so fiercely and I just want to be ok. I want to stop hurting, stop wanting, stop needing. I want to know why it's so hard. And I want to know why so many people don't seem to struggle at this nearly as much as I do.

I want to wish I could die. I know it's unhealthy. But it's so fucking relieving to be able to think "Well, no matter how bad it gets, I'll have a way of ending it." But, honestly, I don't want to die. I want to live. I just want this pain to stop.

Bleh. Things shouldn't be so hard.

NeoAnnual Progress Report

Three years ago, I was staring down my final semester of undergrad. Staying in bed all day, my girlfriend would sometimes come over at 3:00p or 3:30p and crawl in with me because attempting to get me up was largely futile. I was preparing to teach high school, a career I had more trepidation than passion about, but it was safe and I was anything if not safe.

Two years ago, I was working my part-time job over winter break. I could not sleep late, and that was wonderful. I had been single for a bit more than two months, and it still stung poignantly (although not nearly as bad as it had). And, the last week or two, I had decided to finally transition genders. I came out to my immediate family around this time. And although I dreaded returning to teaching high school, I felt significant hope for the first time in my life.

One year ago, all of my applications had been sent in for graduate school. I was staying in bed until 4p or 5p, going to bed at 7:00a as the sun came up. I had just driven to Memphis to see the young woman who I loved more than I thought love was possible, and a few days before the last day of the year, I had three hours with her that encompassed the happiest I've ever been. I had been on hormones for eight months, had my chosen name legally and been full time for two months, and there were moments where I felt overjoyed simply to be alive. [And moments where I felt I was haunted by a stain of self that would never truly leave]

Today, I find myself in graduate school. Based upon one client, I love my chosen career. Based upon one semester, I adore my cohort and I appreciate most of my classes. I look in the mirror and see Juliet. I have increasingly closer friends who I really believe truly care about me.

I'm still single. I still find myself staying in bed for too, too long. I still don't eat well, don't take care of my environment, don't regard myself particularly highly. The notes from one year ago aside, last year contained some of the absolute most painful and stressful times in my lifetime. And they ended in a way that will deny me closure until I can figure out how to conjure it for myself. I have motivation problems. I have significant anxiety. I have monstrous fears of and intense desires for intimacy. I have a lot of work to do.

But, overall, considering where I've been, I'm in a decent place. All I have to fear and dread are research deadlines. And, truly, that's a lesser concern that I hope I can figure out. I have a lot of things to look forward to this year. And, if I keep on progressing, I think I might find a bit of contentment along the way.

Sitting with Uncertainty

Part of the difficulty in being single is the feeling that you can't quite count on it changing. There's a degree of serendipity involved in meeting a good match that, no matter how much your partnered friends may protest (and it's always, only your partnered friends), belies the reassuring reaffirmations of one's self-worth.

I focus a lot on that uncertainty. It's not unlike being sick, sometimes. You hope you'll get better. You think you probably will. But, right now, it hurts so much. You curse yourself for not fully appreciating how good you had it when you weren't sick. And you worry that it will keep going on, debilitating you for who knows how long with pain, suffering, and energy depletion.

Most people get better, depending on the illness, and professionals can often give us reasonable ideas of what to expect and how to treat it. So too, I can, intellectually, tell you that I've been in some form of relationship for three of the past four years. Although the relationships I had generally lacked maturity, substantive support, and very in frequent physical contact, I've also had a host of my own issues to sort through.

Aside from the major depression, I really can't compare myself to straight cis people. Hell, I shouldn't even compare myself to some of the younger trans people I know. Partially because we all move at different paces. But partially because if I had known anyone like me, like they do, I might have transitioned and been much happier much sooner too. I've been what I consider "real" and "alive" for about four months, and my relationships to this point largely reflect that.

However, just as I can tell myself these things logically, until I'm actually "better" they're just guesses. Educated guesses. But guesses.

Uncertainty pervades so many crevices of our lives. Does she *really* love me? Does what I'm doing *really* matter? Will I ever find a calling in my life that will fulfill me? I've heard before that men aren't as close to their children because they can never be 100% sure that the child is theirs, unlike the mother. I, of course, think that's ridiculous. But when my father tearfully confessed that he sincerely doubted whether I was his biological child (which, apparently, was the difference between him feeling a responsibility to care for me or not), even that uncertainty became rather pointed.

And, for many of us, it's the uncertainty that's the worst part of what ails us. For instance, if you told me I'd have a positive, fulfilling, sustainable relationship tomorrow, would I feel so bad about not having one now? What about in one month? Six months? A year? Two? Because while being single is certainly not optimal (for me), I can definitely say knowing it would end in a day, a month, six months, and probably a year would relieve a great deal of my concern.

Ideally, I think, this would be a good way to live: assume that it will come when it comes and not stress over it. Of course, that's much easier to do when you're straight and cis than gay and trans. And, arguably, worrying allows me to reassess and continually push myself towards a better outcome. But in many ways those are cop outs. If my suffering is not the pain of the present but the fear of forever, that's a fundamentally different question than I've been asking. And, arguably, it's the one I should be answering.