I may be depressed.
I have eight of the eleven symptoms listed for depression. That’s depressing!
I’ve always been an existential brooder, not that I am generally pessimistic, I consider myself a realist. But I think that constitutes a subjective analysis.
The articles I’ve read suggest there may be a trigger for this depressive episode. I lost my mother back in April. That may fill the bill. Her dying could be the root cause of what I am experiencing. I am inclined to believe that to be the case. On the other hand, it doesn’t feel like it.
Age may have something to do with what I'm feeling. I am older, fatter, shorter and weaker than I used to be and what I used to be, what I identified as being for most of my adult life, was dependent upon two things; my career as a correctional officer and even more importantly, my martial arts training.
You can see where the age thing would play havoc with my self-esteem. Because of injuries sustained over a long period of time and through wear and tear, I have not practiced martial arts for six years and will never be able to do so again, not the way I want to and that means I won’t.
Clearly, this situation could also be the cause of my depression. But again, I don’t think it’s the whole picture.
My family is spread over five countries and none of those are the country where I am living. So, I have no blood ties with anyone down here, no cousins, siblings or any blood-related family I can talk with or relate to and none of my childhood friends are here, friends I have known all my life. With my mum dying in April, I feel even more isolated. But I have always been the black sheep. In fact, the last words my father said to me was that he did not believe he was my father.
Frankly, since he died without us reconciling, (he was dead and buried a week before I knew he had even died), I don’t think I have ever come to terms with it. That was, I believe, the impetus for me to be in this country in the first place. You see, three months after he died, I attempted suicide. It was a serious attempt, but fortunately, I don’t remember too much as I was really drunk at the time. My acrimonious divorce from my first wife also had a lot to do with that situation as did my emotional response to my work as a correctional officer.
Two separate counsellors and all of my friends advised moving to this country. One of my counsellors, the one who was a doctor, said it was a matter of life and death. He gave me Prozac and told me I should get out of the situation I was in, for a while at the very least. So, I moved. The Prozac nearly killed me. I poured the pills into the toilet. Twenty-one years later and here I am, alive.
But the spiritual deathblow for me, the thing that has always haunted me and always will, was being estranged from my children. About fifteen years, yeah, I hadn’t seen my own children for fifteen years at least. I won’t go into detail, but lies were told about me. And I made some bone-headed decisions.
I am sixty-two now and remarried for the third time. Been married to this marvellous woman for thirteen years though we have been together for fifteen. Basically, I have a relationship with my wife of the kind I always craved and I am living with a similar standard of life style I had, and would have had, if I had not moved. In fact, I have it better here since my current career does not include people threatening me every day. More importantly, I am no longer required to use force on non-compliant people on a daily basis.
And I am not that same person I used to be, I have evolved. How could I not? I write, I play music, and I learn things. I am closer to being that partying, hippie, young kid of seventeen, who naively believed in peace and love and justice.
With all that said, I am at a loss as to why I have so many symptoms of depression.
I already posted about the existential crisis I felt I was going through but which I think is normal for someone of my age and background. This is different. This seems more personally focused.
And so this is how I work through such feelings, I write, introspectively, and with the desire to become a better version of myself. There is no appeal to a higher authority, there is no relying on divine wisdom. Those things do not exist for me. Yeah, it’s painful, it’s messy and maybe it’s undignified. But it’s real. It’s me, a high wire act without a net.
And I am beginning to see what the problem might be. It is not one thing. It is not a single, specific reason and it is certainly not an organic problem with my brain. Yay!
I believe I feel things deeply but that I don’t register those feelings, that is to say, I don’t present those feelings, in a timely manner, they don’t happen straight away; for me, it takes longer to process. And while that is happening, other circumstances unfold causing similar feelings to percolate. This adds to the whole process and burdens my processing and then something else happens to trigger a response.
When that time comes, instead of a straightforward, reasonable response to what might seem to be the root cause of a specific depressive episode, a floodgate is opened and pent up feelings from all of the similar experiences present. Hence, these occasional, and temporary, depressive episodes, which is what I am experiencing now. I know this to be a temporary event, it won’t drag me under.
I was taught by counsellors to allow myself to be sad when I feel sad. Ignoring such feelings and pushing them down only exasperates the situation; those negative feelings will manifest in your body at some point! Writing is how I cope with my feelings. I can infuse characters with my emotions and set them in situations where they can explore answers to their problems, and as the writer I can solve their dilemmas, or not. I love to write!
Hemingway said, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
Hope you didn’t get any on you!
I have eight of the eleven symptoms listed for depression. That’s depressing!
I’ve always been an existential brooder, not that I am generally pessimistic, I consider myself a realist. But I think that constitutes a subjective analysis.
The articles I’ve read suggest there may be a trigger for this depressive episode. I lost my mother back in April. That may fill the bill. Her dying could be the root cause of what I am experiencing. I am inclined to believe that to be the case. On the other hand, it doesn’t feel like it.
Age may have something to do with what I'm feeling. I am older, fatter, shorter and weaker than I used to be and what I used to be, what I identified as being for most of my adult life, was dependent upon two things; my career as a correctional officer and even more importantly, my martial arts training.
You can see where the age thing would play havoc with my self-esteem. Because of injuries sustained over a long period of time and through wear and tear, I have not practiced martial arts for six years and will never be able to do so again, not the way I want to and that means I won’t.
Clearly, this situation could also be the cause of my depression. But again, I don’t think it’s the whole picture.
My family is spread over five countries and none of those are the country where I am living. So, I have no blood ties with anyone down here, no cousins, siblings or any blood-related family I can talk with or relate to and none of my childhood friends are here, friends I have known all my life. With my mum dying in April, I feel even more isolated. But I have always been the black sheep. In fact, the last words my father said to me was that he did not believe he was my father.
Frankly, since he died without us reconciling, (he was dead and buried a week before I knew he had even died), I don’t think I have ever come to terms with it. That was, I believe, the impetus for me to be in this country in the first place. You see, three months after he died, I attempted suicide. It was a serious attempt, but fortunately, I don’t remember too much as I was really drunk at the time. My acrimonious divorce from my first wife also had a lot to do with that situation as did my emotional response to my work as a correctional officer.
Two separate counsellors and all of my friends advised moving to this country. One of my counsellors, the one who was a doctor, said it was a matter of life and death. He gave me Prozac and told me I should get out of the situation I was in, for a while at the very least. So, I moved. The Prozac nearly killed me. I poured the pills into the toilet. Twenty-one years later and here I am, alive.
But the spiritual deathblow for me, the thing that has always haunted me and always will, was being estranged from my children. About fifteen years, yeah, I hadn’t seen my own children for fifteen years at least. I won’t go into detail, but lies were told about me. And I made some bone-headed decisions.
I am sixty-two now and remarried for the third time. Been married to this marvellous woman for thirteen years though we have been together for fifteen. Basically, I have a relationship with my wife of the kind I always craved and I am living with a similar standard of life style I had, and would have had, if I had not moved. In fact, I have it better here since my current career does not include people threatening me every day. More importantly, I am no longer required to use force on non-compliant people on a daily basis.
And I am not that same person I used to be, I have evolved. How could I not? I write, I play music, and I learn things. I am closer to being that partying, hippie, young kid of seventeen, who naively believed in peace and love and justice.
With all that said, I am at a loss as to why I have so many symptoms of depression.
I already posted about the existential crisis I felt I was going through but which I think is normal for someone of my age and background. This is different. This seems more personally focused.
And so this is how I work through such feelings, I write, introspectively, and with the desire to become a better version of myself. There is no appeal to a higher authority, there is no relying on divine wisdom. Those things do not exist for me. Yeah, it’s painful, it’s messy and maybe it’s undignified. But it’s real. It’s me, a high wire act without a net.
And I am beginning to see what the problem might be. It is not one thing. It is not a single, specific reason and it is certainly not an organic problem with my brain. Yay!
I believe I feel things deeply but that I don’t register those feelings, that is to say, I don’t present those feelings, in a timely manner, they don’t happen straight away; for me, it takes longer to process. And while that is happening, other circumstances unfold causing similar feelings to percolate. This adds to the whole process and burdens my processing and then something else happens to trigger a response.
When that time comes, instead of a straightforward, reasonable response to what might seem to be the root cause of a specific depressive episode, a floodgate is opened and pent up feelings from all of the similar experiences present. Hence, these occasional, and temporary, depressive episodes, which is what I am experiencing now. I know this to be a temporary event, it won’t drag me under.
I was taught by counsellors to allow myself to be sad when I feel sad. Ignoring such feelings and pushing them down only exasperates the situation; those negative feelings will manifest in your body at some point! Writing is how I cope with my feelings. I can infuse characters with my emotions and set them in situations where they can explore answers to their problems, and as the writer I can solve their dilemmas, or not. I love to write!
Hemingway said, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
Hope you didn’t get any on you!
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