Bad

I'm having a bad week.

It doesn't matter why. If someone with a mental illness ever tells you he's anxious or depressed, don't ask, "Why?" There may or may not be a reason, and if there is one it might sound petty. That's the mark of anxiety and depression as mental illnesses: the response is disproportionate to the stimulus. It's reasonable for me to be upset about what's been happening-- it's an ugly situation. But should I be having trouble sleeping, eating, working? Should my stomach be twisting into a knot every time I remember it after managing to forget about it for a few minutes? Should it be this hard to enjoy anything?

No. And there's a feedback loop problem here: the belief that I should be able to handle this better is just another thing for the depression to feed on. This situation is much worse for other people, and feeling shitty for not focusing on them is yet another thing for it to feed on. There are psychological as well as psychiatric reasons I'm having the kind of trouble I am, and guilt over those is one more thing for it to feed on. I'm intellectually aware of steps I could take to address those psychological problems, and shame at being too scared to take them is... you get the idea.

I said in the other post that I didn't think I needed more medication. That may have been over-optimistic. When I first went on meds a couple years ago I thought the boost they gave would be enough. I was able to transfer into a position that would have been unthinkable with my earlier level of social anxiety. But since then I've plateaued. So many basic things- filling out an online job application, putting together a resume, picking up a pizza, calling a doctor's office-- seem impossible, for the direct social interaction they involve or for maybe possibly leading to one. I can still do my job because the social skills involved have become rote, but otherwise I might as well be back where I was two years ago.

Whether the meds have slowly reduced in effectiveness (it happens) or whether I've always been at this level and am just now noticing, I think I need to try something else. I'm not actually on anything for depression, because the anxiety meds seemed to cover it. (Anxiety and depression are often linked, but they're not quite the same thing. Before this week, I was mostly dealing with spells of depression. Now they're working in concert.) It's a mistake to think medications can solve all your problems, but it's also a mistake to artificially cut off the possibility that they might.


I write these things in the hope of helping other people, but I also do it because it's therapeutic for me. I feel better having purged some of this. But I don't think that's going to help for long. Chronic illness of any kind defies narrative progression and catharsis. There's no permanent solution delivered just in time for a final laugh line before the credits roll. I've been this low before, I'll probably be this low again. Anything that might hold it back for a while is worth trying.