Emotional Support Sisters

I have found a pattern in my experience of depression. Ok. I’ve found many patterns. I’m only going to talk about one of them right now. It’s a pattern that is rather difficult to convey using only text, since the way I generally talk about it goes something like, “I’ll be going along here *gesture* and doing great, then I’ll slowly go like this *gesture AND sound effect* and it just feels like *sound effect* until I finally realize what’s going on. At that point, I’ll stop *gesture* and just go along *gesture*.” Clear as mud, right?

Since you can’t see my gestures or hear my sound effects, I’m forced to resort to an analogy. 

Imagine I am working out on a treadmill. This treadmill is a very unique treadmill. It doesn’t maintain a steady speed or tilt, but it does keep it within a general range. It just so happens to fluctuate within that range. Not every change is remarkable or even noticeable. Imagine I’m going along on this treadmill at a jog that is probably comparable to a typically functioning adult. There’s enough of a challenge for a good workout while also being something I can maintain for a considerable length of time.

Depression, the sneaky bugger that he is, comes along and begins messing with the treadmill settings. It’ll get harder for a bit, then ease up for a moment, before resuming with the increased difficulty. I might notice things get more difficult, but remember that this treadmill sometimes gets a little more difficult even without depression messing with the settings. This can go on for months, even upwards of a year or so. It isn’t until I’ve been running the Tour de France for a good long while that I finally realize what’s going on. I call out depression, maybe cuss it out a bit, then I stop running. I dial back on the speed until I’m going at a snail’s pace. I’ve worn myself out trying to sprint up the steep hills, hoping to just keep up with the road being put in front of me. Now I stop trying to keep up.

What does this slowing down look like in the non-metaphorical world?

It looks like me doing the bare minimum. I wake up, get myself fed, medicated, and presentable enough that I don’t look like I’m depressed (I’m generally clean, don’t smell bad, and my hair is done in some sort of easy way). I go to school/work. I meet the expectations given to me there, at least good enough to get the job done. I come home. Then I veg. I might take a nap, depending on whether or not I’ll be able to fall asleep that night. The nap might even be just to take up time, not because I think it will help me feel less tired. I numb my mind. I look at social media on my phone. I play games on my phone. I watch YouTube videos. I’ve found that the deeper in a depression I am, the shorter the videos that I’m willing to watch. I just don’t have it in me to get emotionally invested in an entire movie. It’s not only the emotional investment, I also just don’t have that much of an attention span. 

Here’s the interesting part of the pattern though–the main concept in my rambling. At the point that I admit I am truly in a depressive episode, and I let myself slow down nearly to a standstill; I feel like an enormous weight is lifted, which feels pretty good. It doesn’t mean that things (like circumstances or my mental state) have gotten better. It doesn’t mean that I have any sort of resiliency. I just am no longer trying to function as a healthy adult. I’m not trying to run in any race. I’m not even trying to get anywhere. I’m just trying to survive. I know I can’t allow myself to stay in this state for too long. And yet, I don’t really care. There’s a kind of freedom in not caring. It’s a freedom that scares me, and I don’t like being there. But it is easier.

I’m not sure I have any takeaway messages here. I have no advice. I am not making a quality judgment on whether this is a good thing or not. I’m not even looking for empathy or validation. I’m just sharing my experience.

 ¹ Comparison is the thief of joy. Don’t compare. It’s not helpful. One day I might even take my own advice on that.

² I don’t know why I personify depression as a “he”. That might be something to talk to a therapist about.

³ Yes, I know that is a bike race, not a running race. I said what I said and I mean it.

 ⁴ Urban Dictionary definitions of “veg” are: state of being vegetable-like (unmoving and slowly degenerating). “Veg” is pronounced with the same soft g sound as vegetable, not a hard g like vegan. Please don’t go around saying you are going to “vegg”. That just sounds weird.