Happiness and Gender

Some Sunday paper food for thought-

The sexual revolution was supposed to liberate us all. But now women have so much going on, we aren't necessarily more happy though men report to be, note Maureen Dowd and Arianna Huffington.

Part and parcel of the deal for now, I guess. Focus on your happy.

a dark place

yeah, it's night... but that's not necessarily what I'm getting at.

I came back from the weekend feeling totally unrested, and today I've been kind of out of it. Some of this can be rationalized, but for some reason I find myself generally in a bad mood. I will blame part of this on hormones. I could blame some as well on the cooling weather and shortening days (I can smell SAD in the air)...

Sometimes I wonder how much of our temperments, our moods, are intrinsic to our beings. Sounds a little ridiculous and esoteric, perhaps, but our minds are all built differently, and the network within is all interconnected. In this age of Zoloft, Ritalin, Vallium, and Xanax, I wonder about the affects this has on our personalities. What is innate, and what is fixable or expendable? Our individual creativities... substances that alter our brain chemistries most certainly do alter us as people, if only temporarily.

I get very frustrated when I can't find my keys about 2/3 of the time I go to leave, or continuously forget things at home. I am embarrassingly disorganized at times. Sometimes I'd like to take a pill and have it all fall into place- I fold my clothes and put them away when I take them off. I put the bread back in the drawer when I'm done with it. I file my bills rather than strewing them about the kitchen table.

But it's not my nature. I don't focus my energy on the routine. I am creative, and though rational, somewhat frenetic. If I were to alter my mind to be more routine and focused, I would likely lose the part of me that sees humor in junk mail advertisements, that can find a use for a random found doll leg (friends' mailboxes, of course), or can devise grandiose collages out of bus transfers gathered over 9 months. The part of me that can add coconut and almonds to a cupcake and get a creature that's a striking bunny resemblance, without recipes. I'd probably lose the embarrassingly explosive laugh tendency, or my excessive inquisitiveness, both that define me. So who would I be then? I guess that's what keeps me putting up with repeated incidents of leaving my travel mug full of coffee at home in the morning. Sometimes I wish I wasn't the person sacrificing sleep hours the night before a client meeting to repeatedly adjust the size of a picture of Salvador Dali with a funny looking cat to fit her blog entry.

I think about famous artists, the crazy ones. The Pollacks and the Van Goghs and the Dalis. We all know that plenty of artists experimented with drugs in the name of creativity (Toulouse Lautrec, Jimi Hendrix...), but where would the odd souls have been, creatively, had we had the magic back them to diagnose disorders and tendencies and made them more even-keeled? What would our playhouses, art galleries, and concert halls be like?

When it comes down to it, we are all both individuals, responsible for our own happiness and well-being, and members of a society, responsible for the effect we have on our communities and societies. We have to strike as healthy of a balance as we can between those responsibilities.

I'm going to chew on that. And go to sleep- and I hope I wake up a little happier version of myself tomorrow.

heavier things

another reason why war is not okay:

War Torn: New York Times' video on the disturbing effects of war on soldiers back at home.

and a NYT photographer's moving account from his years covering the war.

on depression- II

The process of articulating and objectifying what I went through, naming it clearly as something separate from myself was and is therapeutic in itself. Reflecting upon it rationally helps bring understanding, and brings sanity and clarity to an experience that feels so completely insane, confusing, and demoralizing.

However, I cannot help but re-read what I wrote previously and feel that it sounds somewhat odd to be so cool and removed in expressing something so emotional. It kind of reads like a documentary written about me by a third party. Granted, I wouldn't expect to have people take me seriously if I came off as melodramatic or overreacting. Still, I think that in chronicling the experience objectively, I understate the extreme emotion of experiencing depression.

I'm generally a pretty level-headed person, so that may be part of what made me sensitive to the overwhelming emotion. Also usually a cheerful person, this new-found deep sadness, the despair and isolation and shame, the inability to feel any hope on the horizon despite the strong desire for it to improve...it was too much for me to take in, and was drowning me. Even though, intellectually, I knew that it would get better eventually, and those supporting me during that time tried to help me feel hope, I couldn't, and I was isolated in a lonely haze of depression that panicked me. I've always been influenced, even fueled by my relationships and interactions with others, and here I could not see past the haze of isolation to attempt to get there again. It was frightening. All of it was very frightening.

Going through that taught me to put less pressure on myself and be kinder to myself. I'm pretty driven and can be ruttish; this has helped show me the importance of sometimes taking things as they come. I'm still trying to figure out what's most important to me at this point in my life; where I want to be living, what I want to be doing and how and with whom, but I know now that it's best to take it bit by bit and see where the winds take me, rather than stressing out about not having everything bundled together into one clear solution until my head implodes. Or at least that's what I'm trying to impress upon myself....

In all things, balance, moderation, and empathy.

on depression

-

It first hits like a mysterious, dark, unknown force wreaking havoc on your life. For me, it seeped into my existence like some sort of invisible acid through my veins, slowly eating away at piece after piece of my being: it corroded my soul, my thoughts, my relationships, my health... masked as my own personality until it was clear that some sort of beast had taken over my once-competent, once-sunny, once-healthy person and was sabotaging it.

It is clear now to me in retrospect what this beast is, and how it works on me, but at the time, not knowing why things seemed so out of control was frightening and disabling. It took months of unhappiness, sleeplessness, dozens of pounds lost as the result of not eating, hopeless, despondent crying in every imaginable setting, the inability to focus or complete work, and a physically aching, ailing body before people- friends, parents, coworkers, finally practically shook me to get me to realize that something was really wrong, that it wasn't a sadness I should or could deal with on my own or "pull through," as I'd wanted to believe. Something had taken over me and was increasingly sapping me -as I and others knew me- away, and it got bad enough to frighten the people that cared about me.

Though it was excruciating not only to go through this but to drag those around me through it, I will be forever grateful to those who held my hand and walked with me during that trying time. Even now, in reflection, I tear up.

It is difficult to convey the essence, the feeling of depression to anyone who has not experienced it first-hand. Experts explain the onset of depression as being a predisposition stimulated by circumstances. That's where the clear, simple analysis ends, as I see it. According to professionals and those who have been affected by it, there seem to be a common menu of experiences and feelings associated with it. Of course, like most conditions afflicting the vastly complex and varying human body, it can manifest itself differently given severity and the individual. Being a condition mainly associated with the mind, personality becomes a lens for not only experiencing it, but perceiving, interpreting, and expressing it also.

The conditions that provoked my depression are complex, still sore, and not worth belaboring here. I lost a lot that was important in my life and was treated hurtfully by those I had held very dear to me, and it was enough to send me into shock, apparently. There was an extended period of denial and avoidance that allowed both my own condition and the conditions in my life that stimulated and parlayed my depression to worsen and snowball. One of the hardest things for me to reflect upon, now, is how I was floundering through life during this time, unaware how the depression was sabotaging so many aspects of it, and how if I'd have been depression-free, or at least cognizant of the force that was affecting me, I would have handled things differently; how things might have played out differently. But it was out of my control then, and the past is certainly complete.

My life, and the future I saw for myself, morphed into something unrecognizable to the me of a year before. The shock became accompanied by a deeper sadness than I'd ever known, along with loneliness and isolation, and hopelessness, another beast that was new to me. It was as though I was physically being filled to the brim with sadness and loneliness; it was flowing out of my body in aches and tears and entire nights spent by the toilet. At the same time a plug had been pulled somewhere else- all the color, happiness, and beauty had been drained from my existence. Nothing interested me- I couldn't even get close to books or music or cooking or gardening, I had the mental nor physical energy to do anything; neither the patience or interest to focus or think about anything but the sadness welling up from within. My labor-intensive garden in my expensively-rented real estate shriveled up, and the food it did bear rotted on the vine. I remember, repeatedly, lying in bed and trying the tactic I'd used historically when I was blue- asking myself what one thing could make me happy right now, what could I do, or have, or make, or eat, to make myself feel better, and there was just a scary black hole where that answer should have been.

The hardest part in all of this was how it affected my identity. I have always viewed my brain as my biggest asset. My creativity, intelligence, humor, and passion for having a positive effect in the world have always been my defining features more than any tangible parts of me or things I'd achieved or acquired, and I felt depression stealing them from me. My often quirky and comical personality was now lame, clunky, slow, and placid. I could not design, could not analyze, remember, be a good or even amusing friend, could not do much for very long before checking out into a vacant or downcast stare or crying. For a stubborn, independent-minded individual who never let others see me crying previously, it was a huge blow to my identity, and a glaring sign that something needed to be done. I became good at crying silently, and looking like I wasn't while doing it. (I remember thinking that it's probably quite unsettling to look at someone with a blank stare and tears streaming down their face; I think I'm well beyond that now, thankfully.) I have always had a memory that selectively checked out occasionally, but I found myself forgetting important things,-work assignments, entire conversations and promises, and where I had put things, in a matter of minutes, over and over again.

It was disturbing to have not only my emotional acuity compromised, but also my cognitive and analytical sides, which I never would have realized would be affected. What would be left of me but a pile of vegetable matter, at this rate?! Twice, after driving to work under unusual circumstances, I left my truck parked by the office and took my usual bus all the way home before realizing (or having someone remind me of) my error. It's very scary to have your brain revolt on you, and I'm finding that my cognitive rebound is slower than I'd expect, given the emotional progress. I still find myself unfocused oftentimes at work, and do a lot of forgetting. I'm becoming better at writing things down.

Another disturbing symptom is the physical effects. Some of it, naturally, was a direct result of my reaction to the distress- not eating or sleeping will hurt. But headaches and body aches would come and go, ones I'd had like never before and unrelated to, or long after the sleep deprivation or hunger. Apparently it's not uncommon, but it still remains bizarre to me how such a mental issue can stimulate something so entirely physical.

It's taking a lot to get beyond it, and it might be something I see manifest itself in my life again even after I do make it past this bout. As slow as it was, the process of gradually rolling toward this hole before diving deep into it may end up being equal to or even less long of a process than that of climbing back out of it. The depression ebbs and flows, seeming to have vanished at times, and then, stimulated randomly, creeping up on me and sucker-punching me when I'm least expecting it. I'm learning to fight back. As the professionals reminded me, it's an illness, and it has to be treated, like any other ailing part of you would. Mental illness sounds very strong, something for those within rubber walls and straitjackets, but depression is a type of complicated ailment of the brain, also, even if very different from the stereotypes. It took multiple trips to the doctor to get me to allow them to come to the diagnosis and help me treat it, but the many-pronged fork to tackle this for me has included research, counseling, autobiographies, and yes, medication, but most importantly, support.

I cannot overstate how valuable support is to someone suffering with depression. It's people without support, or too severely depressed to take support, who contemplate suicide, as the pure hopelessness and desperation causes people to question the value of their continued existence. Depression got scary for me, it was pretty severe at times, but I never thought about suicide. When a couple of the few people I held in my first ring of support were not there for me, I made the mistake of avoiding reaching out to others for support because I was proud. It is very difficult to see someone one cares about battle significant depression, I could tell by the reactions of the people around me. I did not want to be the needy, fair-weather friend who had been absent when distracted and happy, and then came crying when they were sad and needed something. But being proud was silly and only prolonged and worsened the painful suffering that stems from loneliness and isolation; it was glaringly obvious to many when I spent any time with friends that something was up, and once it became apparent, many people were more spiritually generous than I'd have ever expected. It was wonderful to be reminded of how many kind people I had in my life, even when I don't see them all the time. As I became much more cognizant and accepting of, and communicative about the situation with time, it also became much easier to accept support.

Not only is it difficult for people to see loved ones battle depression, it can also be very hard to help them through it; it's a very introspective dilemma with related introspective questions to ask oneself and obstacles to overcome. For me, no specific conversations or strategies offered by others would lead to feeling better, it was mostly just having people to talk to, commiserate with, distract me, and be a physical presence that became the healing/coping process that helped.

The black hole shrinks slowly, and until it's gone I need periodic support and distraction. It's so very much smaller now, but I haven't been able to forget its presence once, and I can't predict when it will contract or expand, the change in momentum causing me to lose my footing temporarily like a packed bus slamming on its brakes in rush hour. Perhaps the biggest part was learning to recognize the gaping maw of the beast, even to recognize that I was being consumed in the first place so I could react and defend myself. ...and have the foresight and wisdom to let others have my back as I meet it head-on....