walk on the ocean

depression and the will to live

When you stand on the edge of the beach where water meets sand, and you dig your toes in as the water recedes, it feels as if the ocean is taking you with it, that it’s just going to carry you away as you stand. I think about this feeling a lot when I’m in a bad bout of depression, as I am now. I think about the rush of water, the feeling of almost losing balance but standing your ground, watching the waves rush back to the ocean without you. It’s exhilarating and frightening at the same time, and there’s always a point where I wish to be carried out to sea, to just ride a wave out and never return.

I am currently at that metaphorical shore, waiting to be dragged into the water, wanting to helplessly surrender to the waves. I am tired, I am despondent, I am depressed. It hit me rather suddenly, after having such a wonderful weekend that left me rejuvenated and feeling great. I was fine, I was really fine, and then I wasn’t. It’s a familiar feeling at this point in my life and I knew what was coming, but I was not prepared for the depth of it.

Because I’m on medication, my depression is somewhat muted. I have low cycles and I recognize when they’re coming and know what I need to do to combat them when they’re here. But this one feels different; it’s deeper and more pronounced than usual. It’s like the depression cycles I had before I got on meds. I have no interest in doing anything, seeing anyone, going anywhere. I cry suddenly and uncontrollably. I have dark, obsessive thoughts. I think about walking into the ocean. I think about death.

I am not at work today. I was not at work yesterday. I told them I have the flu because I didn’t want to explain my depression, I didn’t want to say I needed a mental health day, I definitely don’t want to have to explain that life holds no interest for me at this moment. So I took some mental health days and I’m hoping to use this time to work myself out of this. I spoke to my wonderful doctor and he doubled the dosage of my antidepressant and I’ll pick that up today and hopefully get some relief soon. But there’s more to this than my meds. I have to take action, no matter how much I don’t want to. If I don’t, I will sink further into my despair, further into this couch, and there’s a buried part of me that doesn’t want to do that. I have to excavate that part of me and do something, anything to work out of this, to keep myself afloat.

Yesterday I read an advice column by Max Collins of Eve 6 fame. In it he talks about depression, and about facing it head on.

Depression robs us of all that is worthwhile in life. It is a despot in the mind, a petty tyrant that wants us to grovel at its feet. It tells you lies, like “I [depression] am too powerful for you to live according to your values while I persist” and “You need to feel better before you can do a thing that will make you feel better.” You are through capitulating to its demands. Fuck this guy called depression — you’re going to take away their power.

I am guilty of giving in to the tyrant. I am guilty of thinking that there’s no way I can feel better so why even try. But Max and his wise words within helped me remember that I do have power over this.

For example, your depression will tell you that a particular thought and its attendant feeling in the body are “unbearable” while you are literally bearing them. Lie exposed. It will tell you that it is not possible for you to take any action while you are so afflicted, and this too is a lie. Touch your nose. You just took action. And you didn’t need the pain to go away before you did it.

I am bearing my depression, and doing it wearily. I have spent the past few days cowering because I did not have the strength to come out swinging. But I don’t need full strength. I just need enough to do one thing, take one action, to start moving around.

The pain is profound. A year and half later, I am still reeling from the breakup of my marriage. Recently, we stopped talking. There was no argument that preceded this, there was no formal announcement that we no longer needed to talk to each other, there was just a drop off the cliff, where we went from texting a few times a week to nothing at all. It’s been like a second breakup to me, this cessation of communication. I feel hurt all over again. I feel abandoned all over again. And I’m too tired to feel angry about it, so I just feel sad and despondent. I’m lonely and sad and this all hit at the same time my low cycle kicked in, making for a superstorm of depression. I’m writing this thinking, no wonder you feel bad.

I am bearing the pain, but do I have to remain sedentary and reclusive while I feel this pain? Do I have it in me to get up and metaphorically touch my nose, take some kind of action? I vowed yesterday that I would spend today learning my new camera and working on some photos. Doing something creative has always gotten me out of ruts, but I’m worried this rut is too deep to get out of. What if I’m stuck here forever? What if this is my life now, and I never come out of this?

These are things that make me think of standing at the ocean’s edge and letting the water take me under. Depression is a monster, a hideous beast that hides in the closet and waits until you are vulnerable to grab hold of you and shake you until you are rendered helpless. It’s so easy to give into it. It’s so easy to just sit here and cry and sleep and give up. But I have to do the hard thing if I want to survive. The question that rears its ugly head in this particular bout of depression is “do I want to survive anymore?”

I do. I do want to survive. I don’t want to live like this. I don’t want to be like this. It hurts and it’s hard and it’s no way to live. I want to fight like hell to get out of it while I’m waiting for the new meds to do their thing. I just have to find the energy.

There’s no pat ending here. There’s no “I’m going to get off my ass and live!” conclusion. There’s only me, staring at the waves, feeling the rush of water under my feet, trying to find the will to turn and walk away.