This is the continuation of a cross-blog conversation I’m having with isabella of Change Therapy. In her last installment she said: “by leaving depression in the darkness of wordlessness, i give it more power; like a wet rag left in a warm kitchen, this darkness is a perfect breeding ground for dis-ease.”
For our own comfort, sometimes we will put up with a great deal of pain. Sometimes Depression is all we know, all that’s familiar, and even though it’s dark we incidentally feed the darkness by not naming the seemingly unknowable. Like a child covering their eyes during a scary movie, only to later discover that not fully experiencing something in the light of day makes it scarier.
I said depression is a state of subtraction and part of that means that when you’re Depressed you’re not fully experiencing all life has to offer. Something is missing, and that something varies for each of us. For some people it’s a sense of balance, hope, pleasure, or movement, or a combination of things.
No two episodes of my own Depression have ever been exactly alike. So I think isabella is onto something when she suggests that one way to gain mastery over our Depressive states is to discover and use our words. The more we do of this naming thing, for ourselves (that’s the tricky but important part) the greater our sense of self-discovery and practical understanding of our lives and minds will be.
The point isn’t to find an exactly perfect description but to find something evocative. To discover those words which fit into the sore spots in our minds, and unlock the doors Depression slams shut. Meaningful language is a key – a very powerful tool we can use to experience the totality of being.
Isabella said, “why accept a word like “anhedonia” if it doesn’t fit the bill? it’s like letting your pharmacist name your cat.” I like my Pharmacist so she might actually do pretty well at this but the point is it isn’t her job, her right, her role.
So that leads me to ask what is my role in regards to Depression?
I am a patient, not to mention impatient much of the time.
I am a sufferer, very occasionally and begrudgingly.
I am, sometimes, Depression’s lackey. It says “jump”. I say “how high?”
I am the life and the death of Depression.
I am the master of its every fickle turn.
I am Depression’s snake-charmer, lost in a trance and filled with the tune we dance together.
But mostly I am Depression’s dictionary.
I define the boundaries of my experience of Depression, and in doing so I take back the night.
I must mean what I say, and say what I mean when it comes to Depression because the way I outline the structure and shape of the illness effects the way I go about recovering from it. Indeed, I think perhaps it effects my ability to recover from it at all because getting well is a creative process, no doubt about that to my mind.
Elsewhere isabella has said that “creativity [is] the phoenix that rises from the hidden ashes. And it is the voice of creativity that helps, time and again, the oppressed/depressed to rise up.”
Without proper definition an illness runs its own course, a dangerous course because it is unknown and seemingly unknowable. So if I want to live, and not merely experience Depression and other states then I simply must seek to set the terms. There is no neutral ground when you’re talking about getting well. You must not stand on the sidelines.
No, to get well you must engage with your experience of Depression, you must find wings of fire. To live outside the lonely country that mental illness creates you need words to fly you across the border. For words can spark new ways to be, engage you in the process of living, give you hope and give you access to the resources we all have inside ourselves. Resources made, in part, from the very words and experiences which frighten us most, from the ashes of our past.
So what resources do you discover when you begin to speak, and to map the hidden country of your mind? Is language just a tool or is it something more? Can it not, sometimes, help us to find the thing itself?
I thought of mindfulness when I read the last part which also means being aware and real. I know that if I just sit with myself, as uncomfortable, as it is that I will feel my depression, then other things will emerge and as I acknowledge or express each one I find myself and I am more connected to who I am. I feel like I lose myself in my depression. Even if I don’t have words…sometimes they are tears instead and those speak loudly.
Take care,
CC
I though of mindfulness too and a post of one of my friends that inspired me to do the same and I find that it works beautifully—it amounts to total acceptance of our experience and it is healing:
http://raynesworld.blogspot.com/2007/07/how-i-deal-with-mental-breakdowns.html
Through times of depression I have a very close friend who can sense when I am depressed and share with her why I am depressed and in some ways it helps to make sense of things that cause my depression to rear ir ugly and then I able to move out of the dark place I am in and know that I have a friend that is encouraging and supportive. Thanks again for an awesome blog.
Excellent post! Like you, no two episodes have been exactly the same for me, either, which really made me wonder when I realized this. You have the same symptoms, but the manifestation is different – what gives? Regarding using words, until you talked about it here, I never really thought about that, but I do know that this time around, I am journalling regularly and I am also able to describe my experience far better. I wonder if it’s because I’m such an old hand at this by now.
If I enter into my depression to find the words, not surprisingly what I bring back out is anger. Deep, abiding anger. Yes, I can speak anger loud and clear.
I see where you came from … to my blog, leading me here. Hello!
@Clueless – Yes, I think/hope lots of things might emerge when you go on that kind of journey of discovery. I suppose it is mindfulness, in one of its many forms.
@Gianna – Thank you for linking me to that post. It’s really powerful to read about your friend’s experience! Beautiful, and yes, that’s sort of what I’m talking about but with words as my prescription, I suppose.
@Terri – I’m glad you have a closer friend who supports you through the tough times. That helps immensely =)
@WC – Thanks! What gives indeed! A puzzling thing.
Could be that your experience, even though its different, holds many of the same elements. So yeah, makes sense you’d get to know it over time, be able to express it more. And with healing also you’d be able to express it better.
@Georganna – G’day and welcome :)
I bring out a bunch of anger, too. Amongst other not altogether pleasant things.
Your honest insights that you share about this are eye opening. I am impressed with the depth of your self-evaluation. Check out my videos on self-help and motivation, as well as health and nutrition (check out triad of balance); they may be of some help.
peace,
mike
livelife365
My body shows the awful truth of living silently in pain. My arms and legs bear witness through countless pale scars of sewn up cuts, pink clouds from burns and livid areas of scabs I worry at.
My best friend Cricket and my therapist Ruth have been the people who’ve let me know that it’s safer and better to vocalize my pain, than share it on my skin.
I was brought up in a house that did not rush to the doctor, and when my school recommended at age ten that I needed a psychiatrist, my parents offered boarding school as an option. Which I took.
I’ve spent years painting and scribbling my pain, but I have found that writing a blog is better than a diary. In a personal journal, one can get swept away by the terrible tides of isolated madness.
A blog is a little bit like how I check out a painting of mine. I’ll hold it up in front of a mirror, just to see how it looks one step removed. In writing with another reader in mind, I find that the same applies.
I agree with this assessment of depression. It’s hard for anyone who’s never felt it to understand.
Poetic and beautiful CK.
When all this business started a few years ago, I naiively thought depression was something I had, like a cold. In that I could eventually get rid of it.
I also thought depression was a recent acquisition, but I’m coming to the realisation that’s not the case. That I’ve suffered depression before, and in fact I grew up in a household where a state of depression was pretty normal.
I read everyone’s blogs talking about their ongoing battles with depresion and I thought “Not me, I’ll be getting better and it will be all good”.
Well, I’ve learned that whilst I might not plunge to the depths that some others here might, it sits there like a vulture on my shoulder. Waiting for me to show weakness, slip up, so it can swoop in and take hold once again.
I also think writing is our best and last defence in some ways. Its the outpouring of these emotions that, as you say, releases the boogie man and makes him seem ordinary.
@Mike – Thanks :) Will do. I respect your insightfulness. You’ve got a lot of sensible things to say about topics around which people are generally not particularly sensible.
@Dano – Aw, hun. Yeah, I know how that goes. I surely do.
I like the way you think of blogging. It’s true, it does help to get you out of the square you live in, so to speak. Approach things from a new perspective, or three ;)
@Cheesemeister – Yeah, it is hard to ‘get’ something if you’ve never really been there. Though that’s something of a blessing when it comes to the likes of Depression.
@Svasti – Cheers :) Yeah, making him seem ordinary is vital. Because otherwise the return of Depression is pretty overwhelming, and mostly it needn’t be.
You can accept something without it taking over your life, if you’re familiar enough with it. Hard to do that if you’re still hoping that you can wake up one day and magically just be ‘over it’. Recovery is damn hard work, unfortunately but thankfully, the real deal is also worth it!
what? you wrote this a week ago? i better hurry up and come up with something to add to the discussion!
this is such an incredibly beautiful post, and i love your subtle use of, well, language: “without proper definition an illness runs its own course”
what a difference between “running its course” and “running its own course”. “running its own course” implies a natural unfolding, whereas “running its own course” implies setting a direction that may very well be contrary to the person who is experiencing depression.
@svasti – i really resonated with what you said. it took me a long, long time to realize that depression was part of my life, and then like you, looking back, i could see how it had been there since childhood.
Hey isabella :) Thanks!
Sorry about that. Thought you got the pingback on your post. Oops. Will make sure I leave a note next time!
This makes so much sense–that we can’t “stand on the sidelines” with depression (I think this is also true of trauma and addiction recovery, not that I can really sepearate the three different issues in myself anyways). I like the idea about being depression’s dictionary and giving it shape and expression to help move oneself in/through it.
catatonic kid – oh, don’t worry, i knew you had written the post. i was just expressing my dismay at how quickly time passes … :)
The depression that I live with has often been like a cloak. Sometimes it hangs in the closet, sometimes it just covers things up, it’s so old I wonder why I’d still be wearing it and other times I’ve had it on so long, I completely forgot what it is like to be without it. I could take the metaphor in dozens of directions to help paint the picture of my experience of this disease. And maybe the most important thing of all, is I’ve never actually worn a cloak regularly, although I did own one once, and now wonder what would possess me to keep putting on an item of clothing that is no longer my style or preference. My immediate thought is the distinction, my outward expression, to say this isn’t the norm.
The words are important. It is sometimes difficult to know when to cross the line. Too many words can block the path to others, too few words not allowing out what needs to be said, then creating the bridge to that new sidewalk. Naming for me is better served by definitions. If I just name it depression, it comes with connotations, preconceived notions and judgment, especially when I say it out loud and others hear. Whereas my definition of repressed feeling may not be yours. So I resonate more with your notion of a dictionary for depression. It is also the place where the exact words I use become most vital. For even as the depression may not BE me, the depression is definitely my experience.
Good article, good to hear it said, the best part is that you said it. TY.
Hey CK, for this series of exchanges with Isabella, I’m jointly awarding you both the Flower Smeller award. I know you’ve already received it before, but I think what the two of you are doing here is special and worthy of attention.
You can read about it more here:
http://svasti.wordpress.com/2008/10/19/some-flower-smeller-awards/
**hugs**