I often read about people with depression, and I wonder how we can be talking about the same disease. Usually it is along the lines of “I was successful in my career, I have an amazing spouse, a home I love, wonderful kids but something felt wrong. That something, it turns out was depression.”
I would love to have a life where something felt wrong, as long as I was still able to have that wonderful life.
Effectively, I am unable to function in the world on a daily basis. Some days, I am able to walk the dog, watch tv and read online blogs, eat something, smoke some pot and sleep. On good days, I am able to force myself to attend a meetup group or Toastmaster meeting – although the effort to get out of bed, take a shower, get dressed, get on the subway and travel to the destination is a Herculean task.
The best way I can describe my depression is that everything I do feels like pushing a boulder up an ice mountain, while wearing socks. I never get traction or momentum, and when I am able to take two steps forward, it is quickly followed by ten steps back.
The people in the stories I read online usually are at first resistant to medication, but eventually the acquiesce, take some pills, and now life is wonderful. I’ve been depressed on medication and off medication. I am one of the lucky ones with medication-resistant depression. After trying Paxil and Prozac and Wellbutrin others I can no longer remember, none of which ever provided long term benefits, I gave up on medication being the cure.
I am fifty. Most of my life I have experienced some form of depression. I am tired. And I do not want to live another fifty years like this.