Winston Churchill was the Prime Minister of Britain during WWII. As Prime Minister, he led his countrymen into some of the fiercest battles this world has ever known. At the same time, Churchill fought his own inward battle with what he euphemistically called the "black dog". What is the Black Dog? Depression. Deep, suffocating, clinical depression.
Clinical Depression isn't just the "blues" or a few bad days in a row, or grieving the death of a loved one. Depression is an abnormal response to a normal situation. For instance, it is
normal to grieve when a loved one dies. It becomes depression when mourning does not fade after a reasonable period of time. Depression isn't feeling heartache about a broken relationship. This is
normal. Difficult things happen to each of us in life and it can be expected that we will all feel something akin to the symptoms of depression several times during our lives.
To be diagnosed with depression, five of the following nine criteria must be met within a two week period including depressed mood and lack of interest or pleasure:
- Depressed mood
- Decreased interest or pleasure
- Unexplained weight changes
- Sleep disturbances
- Psychomotor agitation or retardation
- fatigue
- Feelings of worthlessness or guilt
- Inability to concentrate
- Thoughts of death or suicide
Clinical depression ranges in severity from mild to severe- with psychotic symptoms. In many cases, it is easily treated and abates within a reasonable amount of time (on the order of months). Other times, this is not the case.
Why am I writing this? To tell the truth, I do not know. I have been dealing with depression in one form or another for 5 years. It has been a major factor if not the commanding factor in essentially every major decision or event since I started college. I used to try to keep it a secret. I don't really try anymore. I suppose there are people that guessed it, but I don't know who.
I'm surprised at how resilient I've been. I have been kicked over and over and yet I keep getting back up. No mission? wait a year and try again. Still no mission? graduate college- with 198.5 credits. Crisis counseling Saturday morning? play the organ at church on Sunday. Can't afford medication because of crappy insurance? get the doctor to give you samples. Spend the night in the ED? go to class the next day. Spend the weekend drinking mucomyst (think rotten egg juice)? Educate the nurse about the biochemical pathways that you threw out of whack and present your data at lab meeting on Tuesday. Psychiatrist writes involuntary commitment orders on you and you end up locked up with no shoelaces or a shower head for an undetermined length of time? Ask for permission to study your neuroscience book. Doc says no studying-focus on mental health instead? surprise the doc by reading the book she gives you in under 3 hours. Get hauled off by the police to another hospital 5 days after being released from the last hospital? Tell off the supervising psychologist that sent you there (I don't recommend this one- he can testify against you in a mental health court). Get told that you either move to WA or have a commitment hearing for the state hospital? Have a melt-down then move to WA, find a job, and learn to sew. Forced to drop out of a PhD program? Find a new career teaching chemistry. Can't pay the $60,000 in medical bills that your previously mentioned crappy insurance won't cover? Get financial assistance and pay off the rest, bit by painful bit.
So, I am not your typical psych patient. I've got a host of "diagnoses", but those are relatively meaningless in a realm where labels are based on a collection of symptoms rather than a specific etiology. If I'd been the typical psych patient, I'd probably be on welfare, living with my parents, and working a minimum wage job.
It's been over a year since any psych unit admissions (lockups). It's been since February since any "overmedication" or ED visits. This should be a source of satisfaction, but it is NOT! And now, I think I have arrived my point in writing all of this. Looking at these measures, yes, I am getting "better". At least better enough to make the people around me more comfortable. But I am NOT better! Or am I? Maybe I am just
refusing to believe I
can get better. Maybe my identity has become enmeshed with my 'illness' to the point where I can no longer separate the two. Who am I when the black dog leaves?
I don't know the answer to these questions- surprise, surprise. All I know for now is that school is almost out, summer vacation is almost here, and for the past year, I have been obsessing about killing myself by overdosing on Tylenol this July. Just because I have these obsessions doesn't mean I have to act on them, but I get a little stubborn sometimes. I know neither source nor salve, just that I am alone.
