Depression Marathon Blog

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Diagnosed with depression 16 years ago, I lost the life I once knew, but in the process re-created a better me. I am alive and functional today because of my dog, my treatment team, my sobriety, and my willingness to re-create myself within the confines of this illness. I hate the illness, but I'm grateful for the person I've become and the opportunities I've seized because of it. I hope writing a depression blog will reduce stigma and improve the understanding and treatment of people with mental illness. All original content copyright to me: etta. Enjoy your visit!

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

the thoughts of my depression

Warning: if vulgar language makes you blush, or you don't approve of a lady who swears, tough shit! You may choose to discontinue reading now.

Just came from seeing my doc. I saw her two days earlier than planned secondary to the "lovely" thoughts I've been having lately. I don't want to get into the gory details, and trust me they are gory, but I did ask my doc, "Why?" Why do I have these fucked-up thoughts? They make me feel fucked-up. They are disgusting, shameful, and distressing. They make me feel like a bad person. (Brain: "Normal people don't think like this!" Me: "Oh shut the fuck up!") After noting that my deteriorating language might be a sign of how poorly I'm feeling, my doc noted that these thoughts are not new for me. When I've felt poorly in the past, she reminded me, my thoughts have been similarly distressing. Intrusive thoughts have been part of my personal symptoms.

I guess she's correct, after all she has notes while I have only my swiss cheese memory on which to rely. However, I remember a time when depression, for me, meant sadness, despair, know, all the typical, well-known qualities we love about this fabulous condition. But, she's right, over the past couple years it seems my distorted thinking has been a reliably clear indicator of the deteriorating condition of my fucked-up condition.

I've written previously about the diagnosis criteria for depression. It includes all of the expected language regarding sadness, loss of interest, and lack of pleasure. However, upon inspection you'll notice these criteria lack any mention of fucked-up thinking. Nevertheless, depression can rule a person's thinking. For whatever reason, I am one of the unfortunate souls who can attest to this fact. And right now, it's really pissing me off!

These thoughts are sucking the life out of me. I hate them. I don't understand where they come from. I don't understand why they occur. My scientific brain wants to know the inner workings of my fucked-up brain. Why does my fucked-up brain hurl these bloody daggers from unconsciousness into the dark light of my consciousness? How does that happen? What is the reason? There must be a reason! Figuring out the reason would surely blunt the intrusion, wouldn't it?

No, of course it wouldn't. The intrusive thoughts are not so simply quelled. I know that. For that reason, sometimes I just need to rant. I need to flail angrily at this insane illness which robs my integrity, my sensibility, and my stability. For NO FUCKING REASON...

The great tumor of depression is consuming my brain again, and I'm really, really pissed off! I can't slice it out. I can't radiate it to smithereens. I can't even touch it! But I can feel it. I know it's there. My only recourse is continuing to move forward, one foot, one moment at a time, stopping occasionally to hold on, regain my balance, and perhaps to scream.

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