Do you ever find yourself playing the what if game? What if I won a million dollars? What if I could eat whatever I wanted all day, and still get skinny? What if I didn't go to work today, just stayed in bed? What if I never find someone to love? What if I drive into oncoming traffic? I know, a little extreme. But what if?
I've struggled for a very long time with depression. It hurts physically. When I'm in a low spot, I have a hard time moving: my head starts pounding, my teeth ache, my arthritis pain seems to multiply to the point where every movement is excruciating, my fingers swell, my neck kinks, and so on. Depression hurts emotionally, too: I relive all my worst memories, I imagine all my worst scenarios, the loneliness and emptiness envelop me to the point where the idea of continuing to exist is excruciating.
Luckily for me, I've always had the presence of mind to realize that this is depression. That if I wait long enough, I will feel better. It's never really completely crippled me before. I've never acted on my impulse to drive into a telephone pole, or step in front of a train; I know in my head that those choices are stupid, and would hurt more than help.
Let me make this perfectly clear: I am not suicidal, I do not want to die, I do not want to kill myself. I have just found my mind playing the "what if" game more and more. And what if, one day, I no longer have the presence of mind to say to myself "this is the depression talking, don't give in to it," what if?
About five years ago, I began to experience anxiety as a by-product of the depression. One might think that they would balance each other out, that the high pressure stress of anxiety could easily combat the lows of depression. This is not the case. Anxiety gives me more fear, more worry, and more what ifs. Anxiety feels like fear intensified, but an unknown fear. It's like I'm being chased by something horrible that I can't describe. I don't have any idea what it is, but I know it's bad. My chest tightens, my breath shallows, my pulse quickens, my senses go to high alert - everything is brighter and louder - and the worry consumes my thoughts. "What if," my brain starts wondering, "the people at the place think I'm horrible? What if they call me names, or make fun of me? What if they tell me I'm not good at anything? What if they throw things at me? What if they hurt me?" Although I know that these thoughts are ridiculous, that most people at most places are not like that, the thoughts terrify me.
Until now, I've always been able to combat these thoughts with a simple mental reminder: "this is the anxiety talking, don't give in to it." But last week, the anxiety won. For the first time that I can remember, the anxiety won. I drove to a place that I was supposed to be at, an orchestra rehearsal if you must know, which, by the by, I've always loved doing. I got there to the place and sat in my car. I literally could not make myself get out and go in. I sat arguing with myself for nearly 45 minutes:
"Just go in, it doesn't matter that you're late."
"Yes it will, everyone will hate me for interrupting."
"It won't make a difference, your instrument is needed."
"They have another bass player."
"If you don't go in, the conductor will hate you for backing out."
"They have another bass player, they don't need me, nobody needs me."
"The music makes your heart better, it will help you get over this."
"I can't, I can't, I just can't."
Then I cried, a lot. Then I started over with the conversation. My reasonable self trying to convince my anxiety-ridden self that I should go in and partake of the joy of making music. Anxiety won. Depression took over. I texted a lame excuse about getting lost to the conductor, and drove home, crying all the way. I wanted to be in the orchestra, I wanted to play music, I wanted to belong to a group. But I couldn't. For some reason, I just couldn't. And it was depressing.
Having texted the conductor, I figured that still left me an in if I could get myself to rehearsal again the next week. So, this week, on the day of the rehearsal I got up in the morning, packed up my bass so it would be ready to go when I got home from work, and thought "this is going to be great! I know the music, missing one rehearsal isn't a big deal, I played with them last year, and the conductor liked me enough to invite me back; this is going to be great!" All day long I looked forward to rehearsal. I hummed the music in my head. I practiced the fingerings on my desk. I was excited. As I began driving home from class, however, anxiety struck. My chest tightened, my breath shallowed, my pulse quickened, everything was louder and brighter. I recognized this: a panic attack. I started forcing deep breaths, I turned the radio to the classical station, I prayed. It wasn't until I told myself that I could stay at home that night that my body started to relax. Then I started to cry. I wanted to go, I needed to go, I would go! Then the anxiety happened again. A vicious cycle, the entire thirty-something minute drive home: anxiety and depression fighting for mastery. Anxiety won, again. I was so panicky and stressed about going, that I couldn't go. So, I didn't go. I e-mailed the conductor, I told her I had some personal stuff going on that would make it impossible for me to participate in the orchestra this year. I asked her to forgive me for backing out of the commitment, and told her I hope she'd invite me again. Then I spent the evening at home, crying and praying, and I went to bed at eight; depression is exhausting.
I've thought about this experience a lot over the last couple of days since it happened. I imagine from the outside it seems that I'm weak. I don't have control over my mind and body. Problems like this are all in my head, right? Why can't I just do what I want to do? Why can't I control my thoughts? Why can't I just talk myself down? The thing is, though, I can't. And it's not for want of trying, either, believe me, I've tried. Anxiety and depression are real problems; only people who suffer with them can know the pain.
Right at this moment, I'm crippled. I can't go to places and do things, because my body thinks that's an excuse to panic, to shut down. This triggers the depression, and makes me uncontrollably sad. Did you get that? Uncontrollably. I can't control it. I want to, I try to, but I can't. I'm getting help. I'm seeing a doctor, I'm taking medication, I'm researching remedies. I will get better, but right now I'm sick, and the things I need most are less judgment and more kindness.
I've struggled for a very long time with depression. It hurts physically. When I'm in a low spot, I have a hard time moving: my head starts pounding, my teeth ache, my arthritis pain seems to multiply to the point where every movement is excruciating, my fingers swell, my neck kinks, and so on. Depression hurts emotionally, too: I relive all my worst memories, I imagine all my worst scenarios, the loneliness and emptiness envelop me to the point where the idea of continuing to exist is excruciating.
Luckily for me, I've always had the presence of mind to realize that this is depression. That if I wait long enough, I will feel better. It's never really completely crippled me before. I've never acted on my impulse to drive into a telephone pole, or step in front of a train; I know in my head that those choices are stupid, and would hurt more than help.
Let me make this perfectly clear: I am not suicidal, I do not want to die, I do not want to kill myself. I have just found my mind playing the "what if" game more and more. And what if, one day, I no longer have the presence of mind to say to myself "this is the depression talking, don't give in to it," what if?
About five years ago, I began to experience anxiety as a by-product of the depression. One might think that they would balance each other out, that the high pressure stress of anxiety could easily combat the lows of depression. This is not the case. Anxiety gives me more fear, more worry, and more what ifs. Anxiety feels like fear intensified, but an unknown fear. It's like I'm being chased by something horrible that I can't describe. I don't have any idea what it is, but I know it's bad. My chest tightens, my breath shallows, my pulse quickens, my senses go to high alert - everything is brighter and louder - and the worry consumes my thoughts. "What if," my brain starts wondering, "the people at the place think I'm horrible? What if they call me names, or make fun of me? What if they tell me I'm not good at anything? What if they throw things at me? What if they hurt me?" Although I know that these thoughts are ridiculous, that most people at most places are not like that, the thoughts terrify me.
Until now, I've always been able to combat these thoughts with a simple mental reminder: "this is the anxiety talking, don't give in to it." But last week, the anxiety won. For the first time that I can remember, the anxiety won. I drove to a place that I was supposed to be at, an orchestra rehearsal if you must know, which, by the by, I've always loved doing. I got there to the place and sat in my car. I literally could not make myself get out and go in. I sat arguing with myself for nearly 45 minutes:
"Just go in, it doesn't matter that you're late."
"Yes it will, everyone will hate me for interrupting."
"It won't make a difference, your instrument is needed."
"They have another bass player."
"If you don't go in, the conductor will hate you for backing out."
"They have another bass player, they don't need me, nobody needs me."
"The music makes your heart better, it will help you get over this."
"I can't, I can't, I just can't."
Then I cried, a lot. Then I started over with the conversation. My reasonable self trying to convince my anxiety-ridden self that I should go in and partake of the joy of making music. Anxiety won. Depression took over. I texted a lame excuse about getting lost to the conductor, and drove home, crying all the way. I wanted to be in the orchestra, I wanted to play music, I wanted to belong to a group. But I couldn't. For some reason, I just couldn't. And it was depressing.
Having texted the conductor, I figured that still left me an in if I could get myself to rehearsal again the next week. So, this week, on the day of the rehearsal I got up in the morning, packed up my bass so it would be ready to go when I got home from work, and thought "this is going to be great! I know the music, missing one rehearsal isn't a big deal, I played with them last year, and the conductor liked me enough to invite me back; this is going to be great!" All day long I looked forward to rehearsal. I hummed the music in my head. I practiced the fingerings on my desk. I was excited. As I began driving home from class, however, anxiety struck. My chest tightened, my breath shallowed, my pulse quickened, everything was louder and brighter. I recognized this: a panic attack. I started forcing deep breaths, I turned the radio to the classical station, I prayed. It wasn't until I told myself that I could stay at home that night that my body started to relax. Then I started to cry. I wanted to go, I needed to go, I would go! Then the anxiety happened again. A vicious cycle, the entire thirty-something minute drive home: anxiety and depression fighting for mastery. Anxiety won, again. I was so panicky and stressed about going, that I couldn't go. So, I didn't go. I e-mailed the conductor, I told her I had some personal stuff going on that would make it impossible for me to participate in the orchestra this year. I asked her to forgive me for backing out of the commitment, and told her I hope she'd invite me again. Then I spent the evening at home, crying and praying, and I went to bed at eight; depression is exhausting.
I've thought about this experience a lot over the last couple of days since it happened. I imagine from the outside it seems that I'm weak. I don't have control over my mind and body. Problems like this are all in my head, right? Why can't I just do what I want to do? Why can't I control my thoughts? Why can't I just talk myself down? The thing is, though, I can't. And it's not for want of trying, either, believe me, I've tried. Anxiety and depression are real problems; only people who suffer with them can know the pain.
Right at this moment, I'm crippled. I can't go to places and do things, because my body thinks that's an excuse to panic, to shut down. This triggers the depression, and makes me uncontrollably sad. Did you get that? Uncontrollably. I can't control it. I want to, I try to, but I can't. I'm getting help. I'm seeing a doctor, I'm taking medication, I'm researching remedies. I will get better, but right now I'm sick, and the things I need most are less judgment and more kindness.
