Waking up like it has all been a bad dream

So what do you do when you wake up from a depression to discover that you are in fact rather unhappy with your life?

You wake up and you realize that you are out of shape, underachieving academically, without employment and have a life absolutely devoid of extra-curricular activity.

What happened to the little girl who showed so much promise? What happened to the precocious teen who had dreams of making a positive difference in the world?

Every good idea, or exciting job, or interesting volunteer work I have become involved in I have given up on, quit, or abandonned. I have lost track of all the interesting academic ideas I swear I use to have. I could not even add 2.50 to a pizza bill of 18.96 tonight because my brain is actually melting from a lack of use.

I try yoga but my body cannot handle that kind of honesty with itself right now. I try prayer but I am stuck in the athiest vaccuum of the secular west where I cannot get my mind invested in a deity but cannot commit my heart to a religious tradition without one.

Last year when I started getting sick I knew something was wrong because everything in my life was right so I should not have been feeling so sick. A year and a half later I am starting to understand how this illness must have gradually morphed itself into a chronic depression for my mother. You try losing 4 months of every year. Watch what happens. Have the same sad tear-filled conversations with your friends over and over again and watch them lose the ability to listen anymore. (Or worse yet sit on the recieving end of their stories without the ability to process them.) Watch what that does to you. Watch your faith in yourself disappear.

Or worse yet wake up and discover that it slipped away in the night.

And then cry.

For the first time in months real tears. Real big sobs not just the hollow moans of depression.

Reflections: S.A.D.

I know you are probably getting tired of me writing about S.A.D. but this should be the last you hear this year (and to be honest, at this point, I think I can honestly say that noone is more sick of seasonal depression than I am.)

As someone who is deeply intrigued by psychology and who has been fundamentally suspicious of psychological medication for years, dealing with this condition has been a fascinating process. Now that we have reached the Spring Equinox this year and the days are officially longer than the nights I have a few reflections on the past year and projections for the future.

Reflections:
1.) This year was not easy, I am not going to lie. Light therapy alone is not enough to make it possible for me to function properly all winter long.
2.) This year was much better than last year. I knew what to expect, and what was going on with my body. My relationships with my friends, roommates and family members all benefitted from a hightened awareness of the circumstances affecting me.

Projections:
1.) I am not ready to give up on living in Canada. I want to keep studying, and Toronto/Montreal are probably the best places for me to do so. I can not (as much as I would love to!) afford to attend Berkely, so I have to let that dream go.
2.) If not in Canada, Europe (most probably Ireland) is the region I really see myself landing, which is no further south so I am going to have to find a way to beat this.
3.) I still remain convinced that medication is not the way to deal with this. They say it would be for only half the year, but these medications breed dependancy, and so I insist that ‘they’ are wrong.

So next year some new plans include:
-Living with my boyfriend (long-distance relationships is enough to make anyone depressed!)
-Spending more time outside in the summer (I read somewhere that the severity of your S.A.D. symptoms is a reflection of the amount of sun you got during the previous summer)
-Going sunny places over the winter months

Alright well, hopefully that is all I will have to say about S.A.D. this year. Thank you to everyone who has stuck by me and put up with my moods and nonsense and the like. Your hugs, and ears, and assistance making food have made all the differance in the world!

On Being Proud of What I Do.

I’ve noticed something recently. When people ask me what I study, I get bashful. I say “Cognitive Science”, and immediately clarify that I mean “psychology and philosophy”. Then, without looking them in the eye, I mutter and stutter something about not being able to get a job when I graduate because I’m unqualified for anything. Tonight I even said in a meek voice, as if asking a question “I think I’m looking to teach?”

I don’t know if it’s something I’ve just started to do, or something I’ve done for a while. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve lived in Japan where you have to be incredibly humble and self-deprecating, or if it’s because my sense of self-worth has taken a blow while I’ve been suffering from depression. …What I do know is that I thought long and hard about what I wanted to study and am very proud of the courses I have taken. I’m happy about what I study… and I’m excited and proud about the idea of being involved in education.

I need to stop waffling when people ask me what I do.

Liminality

This is me on the edge.
Awake enough to be frustrated that I’m not really awake.
Here enough to know that I’m not really here.

Give me two more weeks. Just two more weeks without messing anything up too badly.

Then give me one more winter here.
One more year to finish this damned degree.

Then, please God, let me move somewhere where the days don’t get so stiflingly short.

Back on the mat and in need of inspiration

I started yoga again. Every morning in the living room with my roommate. We’ve been easing in toward a real ashtanga practice, and it’s been feeling good.

This morning I didn’t want to do it. Like any other facet of my life these days 97% of my body was just like “meh, fuck it, go lie down”. But I remembered my old yoga teacher saying that what you experience on the mat is a reflection of what you experience in life, and since I knew damn well I could complete a practice, doing so seemed to be a good way of showing my body that I can get past this overpowering feeling of motivational apathy.

But the part of me that gets depressed is actually pretty smart. It can out-smart me (and Gabe, or most of the people trying to talk me into feeling better) 9 times out of 10. And it put up a good fight. Why push through? Why do a practice? Why do something you don’t want to do anyway?

I did the practice. I wish I could say I feel satisfied.

I need something to be inspired about right now. I need a goal that is more concrete than running from Canada and exploring as soon as I finish up here at school. …Because that goal isn’t encouraging. That goal doesn’t have anything to do with me doing well while I’m here.

I’ve found a program, in Guelph of all places, that looks interesting. In their faculty of Family Relations and Applied Nutrition they have some neat looking programs, and one in particular seems to be calling out: Family and Couples Therapy.

Why you might ask? …I have some reasons. Maybe I’ll write about them later.

Finding a Balance

I had a breakdown yesterday.

It had been coming for a while, and I was in denial about it. I was working on this paper for my Celtic Culture class. I had all sorts of research done, and a pretty solid outline which even went as far as detailing what points I needed to communicate in each paragraph. But I couldn’t write it. I didn’t know how. I didn’t feel comfortable trying to communicate my thoughts in a manner which would be appropriote for this paper and so everytime I tried I froze.

Teusday was the day after it was due, and I’d promised myself and my prof I would get it in Wednesday morning. Teusday I was a little crazy. I would yell, and bang on the table, and sulk and whine, and then finally I started to cry and eventually I went to bed. ….but I was sure it was just the paper–that I couldn’t do it. That I was “out of my element”.

Yesterday I still could not work on it. Yesterday I called my boyfriend (the most wonderful guy ever) and snapped at him for anything he said. Yesterday I wanted to throw the phone, throw my books– so I put it aside and went to edit my psych paper. And yesterday I couldn’t do that either.

For a couple of days Gabe had been trying to help calm me down by saying, “Don’t stress about this paper. Just relax and work on staying happy.” And I would think “Shuttup, I am happy. I’m fine. My light therapy is working. It’s this stupid (explicitives removed) paper”.

I was not happy.

Yesterday I admitted it to myself. I had been fending it off for a few days-but the truth was I was angry, frustrated and on the verge of tears most of the day for three days in a row–I was not happy at all.

So as planned I went to talk to my prof about the paper, but contrary to the plan I ended up admitting all about this S.A.D. thing. And she was so understanding. We had already talked about the penalties involved in handing it in later, or after exams and they were big (and I was soooo okay with that), but when I got to the S.A.D. bit she melted and said “ok, Padraigin, then we’re dealing with something different. This is medical. I’ll tell you what. Do not do your essay. Focus on exams. Enjoy Christmas. And get me your essay in the new year”.

I cried for about an hour. First in a parking lot behind her building folded over in a ball. Then walking to somewhere I thought would be more private. Then sitting up against a wall in a hallway on campus. I felt guilty, and worthless, and releived all at once and I didn’t know how to deal with it. Plus I worried about what it meant for me. Would I have to consider meds all over again? What if my light isn’t working? I messaged my roommate, and prepared for a night of brainless vegging with the T.V..

Then I realized my psych paper wasn’t due for another hour and I still had time to edit it. So I got up, went to the library and edited that paper. Which may not seem like a big deal–but it was. It was me proving to my body that I could do it.

Then I was o.k. The depression was gone. I ate some food, got energy–and was motivated all night.

So does that mean it wasn’t real to begin with? I really don’t think so.

I think it means that my light is working, but it isn’t magic. This time last year I was sleeping all the time, I had dropped one of my courses and I wasn’t ever showing up to work. I’m doing a lot better. But then I added an essay that I didn’t have a clue how to write to the mix, and it extended past its deadline and started threatening to need attention during exams–that’s stressful for absolutely anyone, and I’m in a time of year where I have to respect and be nice to my body.

This light and my shakes are not all-powerful. I’m not supposed to be able to do any and everything I want to do. I need to get to a balance between what I would like to do and what my body can handle.

I’m not proud of having an open-ended extension (for the record). I feel pretty guilty about it, because I was raised to think that you can’t get down from the table until you’ve eaten all the food you put on your plate. I signed up for all these courses–that was my choice…

But I will learn. I will learn what I can handle and I will work within it. It will be a process, but it’s a process that is well on its way…