How am I?
I think I'm OK.
But then I would, wouldn't I?
Seriously, I am OK. I wasn't, a few weeks back. But...in a way that was OK, too. A lesson I had to learn was that it's OK to not feel OK, and give yourself 'permission' to feel that way. I've also learnt to speak up, no matter how softly. I give my support network a bit of a heads-up - could turn out to be nothing, could be something, time always tells - and keep rollin' on.
(Sadly, my 'network' doesn't automatically include all my friends or family; some of them just don't understand - or rather, some can't and some won't. Even my mom, way back when it all began, would describe it as being "a bit down" or "in the dumps". You know, because basically hoping you'd die in your sleep and giving serious thought to making it happen anyway (and/or scrabbling around for reasons why you shouldn't and pretty much coming up empty) is the same as being "a bit low" or "down in the dumps". Of course, when it hit my sis - more mildly in most ways. At least she staggered around somewhat functionally. I'd found it was all I could do to drag myself out of bed, watch Pingu (a kid's thing, nothing too taxing), and shuffle around a bit - it was different. Suddenly, my mom understood...my sister's depression. Not mine. Never mine. Maybe it's because I'm the eldest or the lad or something. I don't know. Oh, and the main reason why I didn't bring the curtain down and sought help instead was my nephew. We've always been close and he was only about 2 back then. I didn't want him to have to deal with that, or be asking the question 'Where's Karl?')
I did the therapy and I'd do it again, if need be. But I refused the meds. Well, they were prescribed, but I just didn't take them. I would have, if I hadn't read up on them and found that, oddly, they can lead to a higher tendency to want to commit suicide (at least the ones we can get have been sort-of noted for it). I mean, that just sounded as bad as the doctor going "Depressed, eh? Well here's a revolver. There's only one bullet, so...spin away!"
Ultimately, I focused more on coping mechanisms and relying on the support, when needed, of others. Of them all, my other half 'gets it' the most, despite never having known a depressive before. She keeps her eye on me anyway. Sometimes she's the one who spots that I'm on the wobble (I think I'm OK...but then I would, wouldn't I?). During my down spells, she somehow then manages to watch me more closely, while still giving me the space I need. Sometimes I feel like a burden - I have to be, right? - but she won't stand for that kind of talk or thinking. All she says is, "It's just who you are" and accepts it.
I think it's because of her that the seriously bad times have been so rare over the last 8-10 years. Most of the dips are fairly shallow and are probably not much worse than how everyone gets from time to time. There have been a couple of genuinely hairy roller-coaster moments, though.
But anyway...I'm OK!
I think I'm OK.
But then I would, wouldn't I?
Seriously, I am OK. I wasn't, a few weeks back. But...in a way that was OK, too. A lesson I had to learn was that it's OK to not feel OK, and give yourself 'permission' to feel that way. I've also learnt to speak up, no matter how softly. I give my support network a bit of a heads-up - could turn out to be nothing, could be something, time always tells - and keep rollin' on.
(Sadly, my 'network' doesn't automatically include all my friends or family; some of them just don't understand - or rather, some can't and some won't. Even my mom, way back when it all began, would describe it as being "a bit down" or "in the dumps". You know, because basically hoping you'd die in your sleep and giving serious thought to making it happen anyway (and/or scrabbling around for reasons why you shouldn't and pretty much coming up empty) is the same as being "a bit low" or "down in the dumps". Of course, when it hit my sis - more mildly in most ways. At least she staggered around somewhat functionally. I'd found it was all I could do to drag myself out of bed, watch Pingu (a kid's thing, nothing too taxing), and shuffle around a bit - it was different. Suddenly, my mom understood...my sister's depression. Not mine. Never mine. Maybe it's because I'm the eldest or the lad or something. I don't know. Oh, and the main reason why I didn't bring the curtain down and sought help instead was my nephew. We've always been close and he was only about 2 back then. I didn't want him to have to deal with that, or be asking the question 'Where's Karl?')
I did the therapy and I'd do it again, if need be. But I refused the meds. Well, they were prescribed, but I just didn't take them. I would have, if I hadn't read up on them and found that, oddly, they can lead to a higher tendency to want to commit suicide (at least the ones we can get have been sort-of noted for it). I mean, that just sounded as bad as the doctor going "Depressed, eh? Well here's a revolver. There's only one bullet, so...spin away!"
Ultimately, I focused more on coping mechanisms and relying on the support, when needed, of others. Of them all, my other half 'gets it' the most, despite never having known a depressive before. She keeps her eye on me anyway. Sometimes she's the one who spots that I'm on the wobble (I think I'm OK...but then I would, wouldn't I?). During my down spells, she somehow then manages to watch me more closely, while still giving me the space I need. Sometimes I feel like a burden - I have to be, right? - but she won't stand for that kind of talk or thinking. All she says is, "It's just who you are" and accepts it.
I think it's because of her that the seriously bad times have been so rare over the last 8-10 years. Most of the dips are fairly shallow and are probably not much worse than how everyone gets from time to time. There have been a couple of genuinely hairy roller-coaster moments, though.
But anyway...I'm OK!
