I wrote this yesterday and decided not to post it. Then this morning during my commute MPR was airing a discussion which involved the stigma of mental illness (set in the context of politics in this case). I don’t like to keep quiet about my problems and I really don’t like feeling like I have to keep quiet. This is my life and if some part of it sucks, I’m going to talk about it. So, I’ve changed me mind. Here’s what I wrote yesterday…

Some days I just cannot get it together. My head is cloudy, my body is tense, and my emotions twist like a knife in my chest. I try to focus and I can only capture a fixed point in space and time for a few seconds before blurring into a catatonic hundred mile stare. Everything is bad, bad, bad and as far as my aching head is concerned, it can really only get worse.

Anyone who’s followed this little blog of mine knows that 2009 was the worst year of my life and that I am currently in a perpetual state of crisis. So it is from within this particular depressive period that I’d like to make a few observations about how I experience depression/anxiety/being nuts.

First, depression seems to equal the absence of hope. If you can find some hope, which I would define as some possibility of a better tomorrow, you can think your way into a functional state. Or at least, I sometimes can if my mood is triggered or heightened by circumstance. This might seem obvious to a sane person but to crazies, hope seems mushy and sappy and useless and naïve. But if you have some of it, then your suffering is finite and you can muster the will to make it through.

Second, having people dependent on you is a blessing and a curse. My kids save my life every single day. I could never hurt myself because I wouldn’t do that to them. I can’t even wallow around in self-pity because I wouldn’t want them to see that. For them I put on a mask of normalcy and pretend to function. On the other hand, they are insanely demanding and quickly tap my already limited energy reserves. They tear a swath of destruction and in their wake I am left standing amongst the rubble; an emergency response team of one. At times like this, I have to remember the upside: they keep me going and I love them more than anything or anyone.

Third, nobody is going to understand BUT that’s not the same as not caring. What’s happening is happening to you and it is not entirely rational (let’s take a moment to recognize that it’s not all irrational either). Don’t expect sympathy, understanding, support, sex, or hugs. You usually won’t get it. But that doesn’t mean the entire world is a cold and indifferent place. Those same people who don’t get it are probably worried about you but think about it, what can they really do? In my particular case, visible sympathy or concern is usually met with deftly deployed minimization and denial tactics. Instead of accepting the help or sympathy, I recoil and insist that I’m just a little tired today.

Finally, if you can trick yourself into getting out of your own head, it will help. Today I read an early draft of a friend’s short story and that made a big difference. It elbowed my analytic mind to the foreground and forced me to do something I’m good at. Suddenly a little pride slipped in and my whole world got a little brighter. It’s simple but it works.

Until this period ends I’m sure I’ll be writing more about depression than film, screenwriting, comedy, etc. and I know it might not be what people want to read. Bummer, it’s what I need to write.

Also, I know my readers are mainly comprised of close family and friends and these posts could be taken the wrong way. So let me clear that up: this isn’t a veiled attempt to get help, you don’t need to do anything, but I do need to have this blogging outlet. Seriously, you do enough by reading this as it justifies the existence of this blog and I find the whole thing…therapeutic.