I wrote two short essays on living with Dysthymia. I decided to start this series of essays so others can know about this world and people who inhabit it daily. People who live with it constantly. It's my form of therapy to let go of what's inside, to sit in the exterior world and be seen as what it is, my reality. And surprisingly of all, it's very, very creative.
And while you're shrugging a "Huh?", it's probably one of the most creative spaces a person can have. To shed all the pretense of life and the world, to be at the very core of one's existence, knowing only darkness. It's leaves the mind to wander amidst the darkness anew, to find places few of the rest of you realize. You fear this world because you've never been there. And you fear what you would find if you did, or what you would do.
That's the beauty of being there. Life and death just are. Two answers to the same question. Neither better or worse than the other, but simply a choice of two. There is no gray. No colors of the rainbow to see the whole of the world. You're faced with the simple choice, and you have to decide. Not deciding only prolongs the decision, it doesn't change the choices.
And from there I can find new thoughts and feelings, discover more of me I never knew existed. And learn to appreciate the creativeness of others who have. While I wouldn't wish this world on my worst enemy, I have to say everyone should be there once in their life. I know few do, some because they never realize it's existence and some who simply fear it. At times I am sorry for you.
Because coming from it, you feel alive. Not more alive as some like to describe about death defying events in their life, but simply alive. To know what simply being alive is all about. And that's what writing is about.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Crashing
After writing about the level people with Dysthymia live with on a daily basis, sometimes we, like everyone, crash. I can't speak for all people with Dysthymia or with depression, I can only speak from and for my experience. From what I read, my crashes are different the people with depression, but it also has some commonality too. And when I change course to begin to feel better, and find my level again is also different and similar.
My crashes are a slow spiral. They start weeks, sometimes months and even occasionally years before, with a small event. I describe it as going down a long, windy, slow downhill grade. You don't notice it at first but after awhile you see something doesn't feel the same, doesn't feel normal. It's usually followed by a loss of the small things I like to do and small changes in how I express myself in the world.
I've learned after living with my Dysthymia all these years to follow the symptoms. Not the symptoms themselves, they're just hints and clues to the real feelings. Something set it off long before, something I didn't originally notice but made me feel angry at myself. It can be something I did, like a dumb mistake we all make, or something someone else did, like an extreme unnecessary criticism or lost opportunity.
Sometimes I know what happens and can interrupt the spiral and find a solution I can live with and return to normal. This is often rare for me. Most of my episodes spiral down into the valley. Like going down hill, sometimes there isn't much to do until I have the bottom level I'm resting at. I have to know where bottom is and that I'm there. Most of the time I can then see what to do to improve and start back up the hill.
But occasionally, bottom isn't bottom. The long slow spiral takes a different turn, very similar, I think, to anyone's severe depression or double depression with Dysthymia. It's like suddenly finding yourself after a long slow decent at the edge of a canyon, so deep and dark you can't see the bottom. And there are those times without realizing it, you find yourself falling. You can't seem to stop.
This is double depression for people with Dysthymia, a sudden change into the abyss to the very foundation of your existence. The problem is that it's hard to get help when you're falling, you're not focusing on help but on trying to understand what's going on, and why your world is shrinking. As the saying goes with Kafka's mouse between the trap and the cat, "Alas,... the world is growing narrower every day."
Instead of fighting the fall, I've learned to keep falling. It changes your perspective. Falling causes you so see differently, so I watch what's happening and what I'm thinking. Strange? Not really, because sometimes in moments there are insights into one's very being and existence and into the why. The why behind my falling. And when I find bottom, I sit there and ponder the world around me.
With me, while it's dark, sometimes so dark I can't see the light looking up, only more darkness, not unlike a deepsea diver who goes so deep and dark they lose all sense of direction. They can find up until they pay attention, follow the clues. There often is a calmness and quietness when I sit on the bottom. The difference with mine is that I know I'm sitting there, or most of the time. Twice I didn't.
It's what I think happens with people and suicide. In the darkness, with it's own calm and quiet, you find peace. And you want it to go on forever than face the world you fell through. That's hard for others to understand that sense of reality. It truly is a been there done that experience. It's the mental version of standing on Mt. Everest, you can't describe your world at that moment and no one can understand it.
And so twice I've felt the warmth of the darkness, but twice I decided it wasn't a forever thing, for me. I sat there feeling that world. You are down to the very last crux of your being, and the final decision to stay in this world or not. And actually, what few know, it's harder to stay. You see the up isn't fun or easy, and the alternative often is the lessor of evils.
Because the up always takes a lot of effort and a long time. And even when you feel you're back to normal, you aren't. For normal doesn't exist except as a temporary and tentative state you can only hope for. It's why is easier to fall back into the abyss, to the warmth and quiet of the darkness, and contemplate the same question again.
But I haven't, and I'm still in this world.
My crashes are a slow spiral. They start weeks, sometimes months and even occasionally years before, with a small event. I describe it as going down a long, windy, slow downhill grade. You don't notice it at first but after awhile you see something doesn't feel the same, doesn't feel normal. It's usually followed by a loss of the small things I like to do and small changes in how I express myself in the world.
I've learned after living with my Dysthymia all these years to follow the symptoms. Not the symptoms themselves, they're just hints and clues to the real feelings. Something set it off long before, something I didn't originally notice but made me feel angry at myself. It can be something I did, like a dumb mistake we all make, or something someone else did, like an extreme unnecessary criticism or lost opportunity.
Sometimes I know what happens and can interrupt the spiral and find a solution I can live with and return to normal. This is often rare for me. Most of my episodes spiral down into the valley. Like going down hill, sometimes there isn't much to do until I have the bottom level I'm resting at. I have to know where bottom is and that I'm there. Most of the time I can then see what to do to improve and start back up the hill.
But occasionally, bottom isn't bottom. The long slow spiral takes a different turn, very similar, I think, to anyone's severe depression or double depression with Dysthymia. It's like suddenly finding yourself after a long slow decent at the edge of a canyon, so deep and dark you can't see the bottom. And there are those times without realizing it, you find yourself falling. You can't seem to stop.
This is double depression for people with Dysthymia, a sudden change into the abyss to the very foundation of your existence. The problem is that it's hard to get help when you're falling, you're not focusing on help but on trying to understand what's going on, and why your world is shrinking. As the saying goes with Kafka's mouse between the trap and the cat, "Alas,... the world is growing narrower every day."
Instead of fighting the fall, I've learned to keep falling. It changes your perspective. Falling causes you so see differently, so I watch what's happening and what I'm thinking. Strange? Not really, because sometimes in moments there are insights into one's very being and existence and into the why. The why behind my falling. And when I find bottom, I sit there and ponder the world around me.
With me, while it's dark, sometimes so dark I can't see the light looking up, only more darkness, not unlike a deepsea diver who goes so deep and dark they lose all sense of direction. They can find up until they pay attention, follow the clues. There often is a calmness and quietness when I sit on the bottom. The difference with mine is that I know I'm sitting there, or most of the time. Twice I didn't.
It's what I think happens with people and suicide. In the darkness, with it's own calm and quiet, you find peace. And you want it to go on forever than face the world you fell through. That's hard for others to understand that sense of reality. It truly is a been there done that experience. It's the mental version of standing on Mt. Everest, you can't describe your world at that moment and no one can understand it.
And so twice I've felt the warmth of the darkness, but twice I decided it wasn't a forever thing, for me. I sat there feeling that world. You are down to the very last crux of your being, and the final decision to stay in this world or not. And actually, what few know, it's harder to stay. You see the up isn't fun or easy, and the alternative often is the lessor of evils.
Because the up always takes a lot of effort and a long time. And even when you feel you're back to normal, you aren't. For normal doesn't exist except as a temporary and tentative state you can only hope for. It's why is easier to fall back into the abyss, to the warmth and quiet of the darkness, and contemplate the same question again.
But I haven't, and I'm still in this world.
Staying level
To begin, I start by saying our emotions are like the tide, an ebb and flow of feelings, thoughts and emotions, our whole spiritual state. We rise and fall during the day, week, month, season, year and over the years. It's being human, with age and experience. And somewhere in all the flow we find a level where are, say, "normal", something between a 0 and 5 on a scale of -10 to +10 for the deepest depression to the highest happiness.
People with Dysthymia, despite all their effort, find their normal level somewhere between 0 and -5. People with non-genetic Dysthymia find themselves falling into the negative zone for the period of their depression, but slowly they get better and back to the normal level. People with genetic Dysthymia don't, they constantly live at the negative level, and only trying with drugs, therapy and personal effort, do they rise above their normal level to feel consistently better for periods of time.
I don't use the word "well", because we're all well. It's a mistake to use the word well. To say we're not well isn't right, fair or true. We're well physically and mentally. Nothing is wrong. Our normal level of life is just lower than most people. It's our normal. Nothing more or less. It's who we are. But it's not about the level, it's the work to stay there that matters, and where the hard work is every day to stay level.
To many it starts with waking up. We've all had the feelings of the warm bed, and the cold world, not wanting to face the day because of something we know will happen, something we have to do, some place we have to be, or someone we have to be with. We've all been there, lying in bed hoping it would change. And we know it won't. And we know we have to get up and get on with the day.
With Dysthymia, it's harder to do even that, start the day. And every day it's the same, lying there wishing and hoping we weren't so down on the day. And knowing it's just who we are, and not really the day, places we have to be, people we have to met, work we have to do. We have to say it's ok to be and get up and get on with the day. Personally I like warm showers to start the day, to feel the warmth.
With Dysthymia, routine often helps. It helps fit the world into something we can be ok and face the rest of the day. It keeps us level. After that the coping mechanics and methods vary with the individual. Some, like me, like to run and exercise - it generates the same endorphins as drugs. Some use anti-depressants. Some, like me, use therapy. I have a wonderful life coach to explore the issues and ideas about life and the world.
Where most people exist on a level we would love to be at. For us, it's work to stay level and harder to improve. It's about choosing to do that or the alternatives.
People with Dysthymia, despite all their effort, find their normal level somewhere between 0 and -5. People with non-genetic Dysthymia find themselves falling into the negative zone for the period of their depression, but slowly they get better and back to the normal level. People with genetic Dysthymia don't, they constantly live at the negative level, and only trying with drugs, therapy and personal effort, do they rise above their normal level to feel consistently better for periods of time.
I don't use the word "well", because we're all well. It's a mistake to use the word well. To say we're not well isn't right, fair or true. We're well physically and mentally. Nothing is wrong. Our normal level of life is just lower than most people. It's our normal. Nothing more or less. It's who we are. But it's not about the level, it's the work to stay there that matters, and where the hard work is every day to stay level.
To many it starts with waking up. We've all had the feelings of the warm bed, and the cold world, not wanting to face the day because of something we know will happen, something we have to do, some place we have to be, or someone we have to be with. We've all been there, lying in bed hoping it would change. And we know it won't. And we know we have to get up and get on with the day.
With Dysthymia, it's harder to do even that, start the day. And every day it's the same, lying there wishing and hoping we weren't so down on the day. And knowing it's just who we are, and not really the day, places we have to be, people we have to met, work we have to do. We have to say it's ok to be and get up and get on with the day. Personally I like warm showers to start the day, to feel the warmth.
With Dysthymia, routine often helps. It helps fit the world into something we can be ok and face the rest of the day. It keeps us level. After that the coping mechanics and methods vary with the individual. Some, like me, like to run and exercise - it generates the same endorphins as drugs. Some use anti-depressants. Some, like me, use therapy. I have a wonderful life coach to explore the issues and ideas about life and the world.
Where most people exist on a level we would love to be at. For us, it's work to stay level and harder to improve. It's about choosing to do that or the alternatives.
Monday, May 7, 2007
The edge of life
This is a hard thing to understand if you haven't been there or don't live there. I live on the edge of depression and life. I've lived with Dysthymia all my life and have suffered two severe double depressions, both almost leading to suicide. I say almost because in all the expressions of suicide there comes a moment you decide to step over the edge of life and then act on that decision. Some decide and act, and some decide, then in beginning to act, stop.
In stopping for that one moment in time, you face your very existence, deep in your soul and spirit, you discover the reality of your life if you want to live or die. It's the last vestige. It's not a decison. It's innate. It's your intuition about yourself. Many find it, and stop. If you don't find it, you don't stop. And your loved ones know the result as you've left us and your despair.
I don't judge people about suicide, and I condemn those that do. If you haven't found yourself there, you have no right to criticize, and if you have been there, you have the obligation to accept and the responsbility to help. But in then end, we all decide our fate by ourselves. No one can make the decision. It's the right of being human, to decide our last heartbeat.
And as I grow older the edge gets closer as I look at my health and life. It's why depression and even suicide increases past 50 and especially past 70, even among those who identify having lead a satisfactory life. It's the reality of our being as we age, seeing the past, present and future. Some are lucky to ignore the signs, some are lucky not even to know the signs, and some are lucky to never understand the signs exist. The rest of us aren't so lucky.
Some people find it hard to understand. Dysthymia is where the level of your view of life is below some level of happiness, and try as you will, it's hard to maintain some measure of satisfaction. It's not that we like living at this level, and why many use anti-depressants or therapy to cope or feel happier. It's not that we don't want to be better, it's the nature given us by our genes. We're just trying to survive and find something better.
It's the lifetime struggle to keep our spirit up while it wants to be down. It's the line about Townes Van Zandt, "The terror and sorrow of a sensitive man who looked into the abyss, and saw, the abyss." While most people only see darkness, some see the abyss, some know the depth of the abyss, and some have been in the abyss - some of whom don't come back. But all of the "some" of us stand near the edge of life.
In stopping for that one moment in time, you face your very existence, deep in your soul and spirit, you discover the reality of your life if you want to live or die. It's the last vestige. It's not a decison. It's innate. It's your intuition about yourself. Many find it, and stop. If you don't find it, you don't stop. And your loved ones know the result as you've left us and your despair.
I don't judge people about suicide, and I condemn those that do. If you haven't found yourself there, you have no right to criticize, and if you have been there, you have the obligation to accept and the responsbility to help. But in then end, we all decide our fate by ourselves. No one can make the decision. It's the right of being human, to decide our last heartbeat.
And as I grow older the edge gets closer as I look at my health and life. It's why depression and even suicide increases past 50 and especially past 70, even among those who identify having lead a satisfactory life. It's the reality of our being as we age, seeing the past, present and future. Some are lucky to ignore the signs, some are lucky not even to know the signs, and some are lucky to never understand the signs exist. The rest of us aren't so lucky.
Some people find it hard to understand. Dysthymia is where the level of your view of life is below some level of happiness, and try as you will, it's hard to maintain some measure of satisfaction. It's not that we like living at this level, and why many use anti-depressants or therapy to cope or feel happier. It's not that we don't want to be better, it's the nature given us by our genes. We're just trying to survive and find something better.
It's the lifetime struggle to keep our spirit up while it wants to be down. It's the line about Townes Van Zandt, "The terror and sorrow of a sensitive man who looked into the abyss, and saw, the abyss." While most people only see darkness, some see the abyss, some know the depth of the abyss, and some have been in the abyss - some of whom don't come back. But all of the "some" of us stand near the edge of life.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Living with Dysthymia
I decided to add another series, like I don't have enough, but I think it's pertinent to my life and life in general. Dysthymia is a different form of depression, as it has two origins, one initiated by some event or situation in someone's life and one genetic. The former is described as a mild form of depression lasting 2 or more years. The latter is described as a lifetime situation with someone who inherited it. I have the latter, and can trace mine to my childhood when it surfaced.
Almost all people with genetic Dysthymia can trace their condition to their childhood, usually starting in their teenage years, and often gets misdiagnosed as other forms of depression or mental health conditions, or as often a personality disorder. It's none of those. And it's not something you need to think of as entirely bad, it's not and has many good effects. Almost all people with Dysthymia go quietly about their life, you would never guess they have it, where many people who experience it (non-genetic) often are a little obvious as they're different.
And why the difference? People falling into Dysthymia experience changes in the life and mood. People with genetic Dysthymia have had it all their life so it's not so obivous in the changes in their life. It's only when they have double depression do you notice something different with them. And, in my view, the two experience double depression differently, where non-genetic have more typical severe depression, and genetic have added depression, a slow slide into a deeper self.
I can't and won't speak about the non-genetic form of Dysthymia in this series except occasionally in comparison. My Dysthymia is genetic. I was diagnosed in 1991 after the death of my brother and 3 years before my father's passing. In hindsight, I can trace mine to when I was six but really didn't exhibit it until high school. I've suffered two periods of double depression, both leading to thoughts of suicide, one in 1978 when I almost succeded - and would have if not for a last moment thought, which I'll talk about later.
The second was in 1991 when my brother died of a heart attack - when my Dad and I had another and major falling out, and when I got a promotion to be a senior technical manager and lead hydrologist for a 24/7 realtiime data operations team. It was a stressful year, and thought of suicide often but knew in the end it wasn't an answer. And that's the key to genetic form. It's a reality check that often actually helps.
You see I describe the feeling of being near suicide as sitting on the bottom of a deep well. All you see and know is darkness, it surrounds every fiber of your being. And ever so slowly it sinks into your heart, your soul, and eventually your spirit, where it feels as the only thing you are. Surprisingly, however, genetic Dysthymics function in life. That's the secret to their existence. It's not obvious what's going on with them. We won't tell, and will get on with life, except we're not there.
So what changes things? It's not drugs or therapy. It's the willingness to live.
Almost all people with genetic Dysthymia can trace their condition to their childhood, usually starting in their teenage years, and often gets misdiagnosed as other forms of depression or mental health conditions, or as often a personality disorder. It's none of those. And it's not something you need to think of as entirely bad, it's not and has many good effects. Almost all people with Dysthymia go quietly about their life, you would never guess they have it, where many people who experience it (non-genetic) often are a little obvious as they're different.
And why the difference? People falling into Dysthymia experience changes in the life and mood. People with genetic Dysthymia have had it all their life so it's not so obivous in the changes in their life. It's only when they have double depression do you notice something different with them. And, in my view, the two experience double depression differently, where non-genetic have more typical severe depression, and genetic have added depression, a slow slide into a deeper self.
I can't and won't speak about the non-genetic form of Dysthymia in this series except occasionally in comparison. My Dysthymia is genetic. I was diagnosed in 1991 after the death of my brother and 3 years before my father's passing. In hindsight, I can trace mine to when I was six but really didn't exhibit it until high school. I've suffered two periods of double depression, both leading to thoughts of suicide, one in 1978 when I almost succeded - and would have if not for a last moment thought, which I'll talk about later.
The second was in 1991 when my brother died of a heart attack - when my Dad and I had another and major falling out, and when I got a promotion to be a senior technical manager and lead hydrologist for a 24/7 realtiime data operations team. It was a stressful year, and thought of suicide often but knew in the end it wasn't an answer. And that's the key to genetic form. It's a reality check that often actually helps.
You see I describe the feeling of being near suicide as sitting on the bottom of a deep well. All you see and know is darkness, it surrounds every fiber of your being. And ever so slowly it sinks into your heart, your soul, and eventually your spirit, where it feels as the only thing you are. Surprisingly, however, genetic Dysthymics function in life. That's the secret to their existence. It's not obvious what's going on with them. We won't tell, and will get on with life, except we're not there.
So what changes things? It's not drugs or therapy. It's the willingness to live.
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