Some (hopefully) Non-Depressing Thoughts about Depression

I’ve been depressed lately - particularly today. I don’t say that for pity, I say that because it’s a fact. Whenever I say that I’m depressed or that I have depression, a lot of people ask me, “Why? Why are you depressed?” and I want to scream at them and say, “I DON’T KNOW! IF I DID THEN I WOULD DO SOMETHING TO FIX IT!!!” But then again, I can’t be angry at them because I ask myself the same question, “Why am I depressed?” I find myself crafting answers or reasons as to why “this might be happening” So much of the time I can’t handle the fact that I have depression or that this depression might not really have a reason. I can blame it on my upcoming period or being stressed or the fact that it’s been raining for a few days and “the weather always does put me in a bad mood.” I can sit around all day and throw these reasons arounds, but when it comes down to it, I don’t really know, and honestly, I don’t know if my brain even knows.

When I was at school, I don’t know why, but it was a lot easier for me to just stuff that depression down and go to class, do my work, and get in bed. Yes I cried. A lot. Typically in the shower while I blared music through my speakers so people didn’t hear my pathetic sobs in the echoey shower. I kept a stash of make-up wipes in my car because I spent a good chunk of car rides picking up the kid I nanny crying about who knows what. But I was kind of able to “get over it” Not actually get over it though, I mean I was just suppressing it, but I think I had enough (too much) going on, so much to think about, a to-do list as long as a CVS receipt, I had tests, papers, quizzes, doctors appointment 200+ miles away, directing a play, trying to figure out the complicated nature of boys/men whatever you want to call them… everything. Yes, I was stressed and anxious and wreck, but I didn’t have to think about anything and I preferred it that way.

Now I’m home for summer. I’ve got a job where I work about 8 hours a day, 6 days a week, so it definitely takes up a good chunk of my time, but I’m left so tired, that I then I get home, flop on the couch and have the free time *shudders* to think about everything. All the things that were stuffed so deep, so suppressed, so covered up, were finally overflowing. They had room to breathe and I didn’t have a long enough to do list to cover it up. Since I’ve been home, I think I’ve cleaned my entire kitchen twice. Swept our floors until there was literally no floor left to be swept. Cleaned a bathroom (ew!). And re-organized my entire room upward of 50 times. I just needed something to do. Back at school, I had let the lid off a little each week in therapy, but right after therapy was class, then work, then homework, so I could immediately shove it back on and ignore the magnitude of the crap show that was going down. I wish I could know why I was depressed. I think it’s an unanswerable question - well, I think I just don’t like the answer. Chemical imbalance… whatever the heck that means. Chemical imbalances sounds so… so… ugh just annoying! What even is that? All my chemicals just didn’t align and now I spend a good chunk of my time in a hell hole? Well that’s fun! Ok, but that’s not what I want to write about.

Depression is this word that gets tossed around pretty easily. People use the phrase, “I’m depressed” for all sorts of things. Their favorite character in a TV show dies, their team loses, their favorite restaurant is out of whatever they want, there’s no parking available… whatever it is, it’s a term that gets tossed around way too easily. Having suppressed my depression for the entirety of a semester - with only a few mental breakdowns seeping through, it’s kind of weird to experience the depression that I’ve felt that past few days, and actually allow myself to feel it. I kind of hate it. I really hate it. It makes me so uncomfortable. I become hypersensitive to everything. I couldn’t get the lid on some tupperware and had a full on sob fest. I want to rip off my clothing - it feels so constrictive. I feel every roll of my stomach when I sit down and that is physically painful. Every word document I stare at, while I try to write feels daunting. Talking to customers at work takes my energy from its already level 0 down into the negatives. I kind of forgot how exhausting it is to have depression. But now I realize how equally exhausting it was to keep covering it up - to pretend that everything is fine.

One of my favorite artists, Vincent van Gogh was an incredibly depressed man. There is an old legend that he used to eat his yellow paint so he could “get the happiness inside of him” (This was later disproved and instead his physician, Dr. Peyron said that Van Gogh wanted to poison himself by eating the paint and he therefore wasn’t allowed in his studio during his “episodes”*) I think there are 2 main reasons that this story spread so easily, and made so much sense. The first is that those that do not struggle with depression are so quick to label it as something “crazy” In the media, people with depression are portrayed as crazy or insane, and so this story might make sense because it’s become so easy to associate “depression” with “crazy” The other reason is that people who have or do struggle with depression, know what it’s like to be in such a deep, dark pit, that they will do anything to try to dig themselves out. That is probably why there is so much self-medication and why depression has such a high rate of co-morbidity with drug, alcohol, sex, food etc. addiction, eating disorders, anxiety and way too many more. It doesn’t seem so “crazy” that Van Gogh would consume yellow paint in order to find happiness. The color that brought so much joy and beauty to the canvas is what he craved for himself and his mind - what’s crazy about that? In Van Gogh’s writings to his brother Theo, he said, “How much sadness there is in life! Nevertheless one must not become melancholy. One must seek distraction in other things, and the right thing is to work” As someone who does this, I totally get this. I didn’t want my sadness to consume me, so I let my work consume me. I let my perfectionism become the steering wheel of life. But that was all while I was at school. Now, I have job work, and it is hard to consume myself in something with limited hours. So that distraction is no longer there, which I think is good. I think it’s ok to feel sometimes. I think it’s great not to have a distraction. I forgot how hard it is though - to get out of bed, write, interact with people… to live. It’s exhausting! Wow!

Van Gogh once wrote to his brother Theo, “Do you know that is very, very necessary for honest people to remain in art? Hardly anyone knows that the secret of beautiful work lies to a great extent in truth and sincere sentiment” Sometimes I’m an oversharer. I know it and I’ve been told it 1000 + times. But I see it as honesty. I am honest about my struggles. I am honest about pain. I am honest about trials. I am honest about triumphs. I can’t sit behind my computer and write something that isn’t accurate. I can’t post on my blog about the “beauty of life” when I’m really struggling. I won’t be negative nelly about it all, but I’ve got to be honest. My art - acting, writing, creating - is honest. So I’m depressed right now. That’s the truth. But the other part of the truth is that this morning I woke up, immediately wanted to go back to bed, but my dog came and licked my face, the sun was absolutely gorgeous, and the weather was warm. I blasted Let’s Get It Started by the Black Eyed Peas through my speakers and danced my heart out, made a bomb smoothie, and made it to work. Was it easy? NO! Was I fighting myself each step? Absolutely! Depression is hard, living life while being depressed is really freaking hard. And that’s the truth.

*https://www.vangoghmuseum.nl/en/125-questions/questions-and-answers/question-63-of-125