There are more blogs, websites and social media accounts dedicated to helping people with mental health problems than ever before. This is a good thing, maybe even a great thing. It raises awareness of the many, complex conditions people have to battle and it provides a sense of connection and community for those who need it. Unfortunately, when it comes to depression, the varying degrees of the condition make it so complex that advice or strategies that might work for one person will mean less than nothing to somebody else. I recently saw a post where people discussed their favourite songs for coping with a panic attack. I couldn't comprehend this. When I have a panic attack I'm incapable of functioning and I experience physical symptoms like an upset stomach, shortness of breath and a feeling that I'm never going to be able to move again. Listening to music just isn't an option when I feel that bad, in fact one of the symptoms of a particularly bad panic attack or depressive episode is that music that once sounded so good to me is just irritating and grating. I avoid listening to music in situations like this after feeling like I wanted to die while listening to The Wailers play Three Little Birds live with a group of friends. That chorus that reminds us "every little thing, is going to be alright" still sounds hollow when I think back to how empty and numb I felt, despite being surrounded by loving, smiling faces.
I'm not saying advice like this trivialises mental health conditions, but I do wonder to what extent they can help people who suffer with more severe forms of depression and anxiety. After my most recent therapy session, I learned a lot about how our drive systems work, particularly the part of the brain that deals with processing threats. Seemingly, my brain releases adrenaline and cortisol too often, which explains why I'm lying awake in bed at 4am, writing this blog, instead of sleeping, like a normal person. Music can probably activate the soothing system that produces opiates and oxytocin in the brain and indeed, when I feel like listening, it's something that gives me a sense of strength, power and focus. The severity of my depressive episodes and panic attacks is so acute that when I experience them, I feel literally incapable of doing anything but lying down and trying to sleep. I wait for it to pass, which it sometimes does, but more often doesn't.
The idea of "self care" is fantastic but it looks very different for everybody. Ive seen so many articles about eating ice cream, watching comedy or playing with pets that despite their best intentions, they now grate on me like the sound of a wasp too close to your ear. I wish things like that helped me when I felt like wanting to die or when I have so much nervous energy I can't focus, but they don't. Only things that alter my consciousness, like alcohol, are helpful in moments like that. The suppression of the negative feelings is powerful and usually quick, but as we all know, this isn't a healthy coping strategy. It is, however, one that many people use, sometimes daily, to deal with intolerable emotions or feelings. In fact, the western world's ritualistic use of alcohol at the end of a difficult day or week has become so normalised that abstain is often treated with suspicion or even derision among certain social groups. (Especially mine. I'm a 36 year old white, lower middle class male from a northern market town.)
So if music doesn't work, alcohol or anything that otherwise alters my consciousness artificially is ultimately bad for me, what's left? Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors, that's what. Pills that make you feel sick, tired and numb. At least that's my experience of them, anyway. I've been taking them for five years now, maybe more, I honestly can't remember. They provide a sense of unnatural detachment that leaves me in a permanent torpor from which it feels difficult to do much but the most basic of activities. Cooking, showering, walking to the shop to buy food and maybe basic repetitive administration tasks. I'd like to come off them but it's not really that simple. The withdrawal effects can be nightmarish and considering how bad I feel at the moment, I don't really want to add to my problems, so I'll stick with them and the therapy as a means of treatment, at least for the time being.
Today marks something of a starting point for me. Having experienced something of a revelation during therapy today, I realised that in order to properly cope with the things I experience every day, I need to engage with the way I'm really feeling. Even if those feelings are frightening, upsetting and unbelievably negative, I need to face them head on. That means being sober. I've identified patterns of behaviour that happen when I use alcohol or anything else that alters consciousness to cope and unfortunately, I lack the sense of will power or balance to function properly when I allow myself to use them. Oblivion is a surprisingly attractive prospect when you've thought about dying or when you can't feel a single positive emotion about anything, no matter how hard you try. So for now, it's glasses of water in the pub for me and an acceptance that I'm going to feel utterly miserable most of the time while I learn how to cope with the way the chemicals in my brain make me feel.
Since starting this most recent round of therapy, I've been introduced to more positive ways of coping with intolerable feelings. Most of them involve simple breathing techniques and visualising the way you would like yourself to be. So far, I've seen mixed results. Some days feel brilliant and I start to believe that I can make a living from writing, which is my main career ambition. On other days I feel a sense of misery and self loathing so profound that I question whether or not it's worth being alive. This is apparently quite normal for somebody with severe depression and anxiety. Some days, the techniques will work and allow me to function well, other days they won't. Managing my levels of expectation is the last thing I considered but understanding that not every day will feel the same is a helpful approach when it comes to coping with this condition. It's difficult, almost impossible to accept that "it's okay" to feel so ill that I can get out of bed some days. Especially when I'm duty bound to prove that I am actively working on my new writing business in order to avoid benefit sanctions, but accepting that the nature of recovery from a profound and life defining condition like depression and anxiety is slow, complex and often inconsistent is one of the keys to getting better.
As always, this post was written in one take with no edits, so apologies for any inconsistencies or bizarre autocorrect based misunderstandings, I did type this on my phone at 4am. I hope this has provided an insight in to what living with depression and anxiety is like and that it's somehow helpful for other people who might be going through similar things.
