I’m dancing with Depression. Not my favorite. I believe it is “situational” Depression which means there isn’t a random chemical imbalance. But, knowing the why doesn’t make the how any easier. Depression skews my thinking.
I’m angry and depressed because of what’s happening to my body. I’m in chronic pain and my mobility and dexterity are impaired. However, I still have to pay close attention to my thinking. If someone asks me, “Have you tried X?” I have to not jump to the conclusion there is an implied judgment being secretly expressed. Such as my inside voices ad libbing by saying, “Really, Joceile, you haven’t tried enough. You haven’t worked hard enough. That’s what she’s really thinking.” For me, that way lies madness.
If my inside voices make up enough of those stories, I get mad at myself. I think it’s all my fault, and I withdraw from myself, my partner, and those who love and care for me. This is a cycle that can destroy me or anyone else similarly focused.
I have to tell myself that is not what the friend meant and check it out with them. “When you asked that, were you thinking I haven’t tried enough things or what were you thinking?” Checking out my assumptions this way is a very brave and hard thing to do. But, how else am I going to get to the truth?
If I let myself pull back and close into a shell, I have even less of a life than the problem I started out with. This is not a pretty picture and certainly not life sustaining.
I get blisteringly angry at the world, my life, and sometimes everything in between. My therapist and I talked about it as being a layer cake. Starting with the base layer of being an abused child and waiting for the next beating. Then, when that beating came, experiencing a release or a lightening of mood. This is the abuse cycle, but my body internalized it such that if I’m hurting I should be really made to hurt so I can feel better.
My therapists said, “Are you okay with the cake metaphor? I can do pie or something else.”
“No,” I say. “Cake is good. I can visualize that.”
The next layer is being mentally ill and being in a state hospital that believed in behavioral modification. Treat bad behavior badly and reward good behavior. (Thank you, Dr. B. F. Skinner.). This too adds to the “I’m doing something wrong so I should be punished” thinking. Good dog training is “reward the good behavior and ignore the bad behavior.” I wish this was the thinking with children especially really, really upset children.
The layer after that being a late teen lesbian. “I must be really bad. There is something wrong with me. Why don’t I fit in? Maybe I should change my gender. Then, I would fit in.” Later, I learned that being a lesbian wearing men’s clothes is not really a sin against man and god.
Later comes the medical model. “You are having trouble walking. I see you have a history of mental illness. Have you talked to your counselor about this?” This has included a multi decade slog through trying to get at my own truth of what is happening to my body.
I get angry about these layers and their interplay. From Michael Jackson’s, “Because, I’m bad. I’m bad. (Bad, bad, really, really bad).” How could I not be bad? And if I’m bad, maybe everyone else is too. Or maybe all this badness just deserves punishment.
Which leads me to I hate everybody who can still walk. See that young guy loping along, I hate him. See that woman jogging with her golden retriever? I hate her. See those people walking and laughing? I hate them. This attitude does not a good life make.
My therapist asked, “Could you draw your anger?”
“Sure,” I say, “I could draw tracking down the person responsible for the pain I’m in and killing them.” But, as Hawkeye says in one M*A*S*H episode, “Who’s responsible?” (He was talking about war, of course. This a battle of a different nature.) Is it me, my parents, their parents, or am I really looking to track down “God” and assassinate “him”?
So, my therapist adds, “Have you ever heard of this exercise? You start with:
Once upon a time.... (and you finish it)
And every day.... (and you finish)
Until one day.... (finish...)
And because of that....
And because of that....
And because of that.... (as many of these as you like)
Until finally....
And ever since then....
And the moral of the story is.... (But you don’t have to have a moral.)”
“That’s interesting. I could try it....
“Once upon a time, my mother shot my father. And every day, she was waiting for the police to come. Until one day, they came, arrested her, and took her away. And because of that, my brother and I were separated and sent to foster care. And because of that, my brother became a heroin addict. And because of that, he died of an overdose. And because of that, I was in terrible pain. And because of that, I became a priest. And because of that, I started ministering to heroin addicts. Until finally, I had a great shelter to help homeless heroin addicts. And ever since then, I have aided hundreds of addicts to get safe and clean. And the moral of the story is, don’t shoot your husband.
“Yeah, I can work with this.”
After our session winds down, I told my therapist that I envisioned a great specialized emergency center where each of those layers go to an intensive care unit room with a team that specialized in the ailment of each layer. In this setting, my job is just to visit, watch, and support all those layers in healing. In lieu of that, I will do my best to be patient with, care for, and love myself. Of that, I’m the one in charge.
L’Chaim.
Joceile
2.5.18
