RealMental

In a fit of pique at the library today I picked up hip-hop mogul Russell Simmons’s self-help book, cumbersomely titled Do You! 12 Laws to Access the Power in You to Achieve Happiness and Success. I like the way You is italicized; maybe my whole problem is that I never thought of myself in italics before. I noticed upon a quick skim that Never Quit is frequently capitalized, and there is a subhead called Your Ear Is an Embryo, which I thought was an idea worth exploring.

Because really, why not? What the fuck. You have to be careful with this self-help stuff–a wrong turn and you might end up in the Landmark Forum or hooked on Flylady or something–but at the same time the essence of surviving depression is the willingness to try to think differently: to endeavor to change the way your mind works, to rewire some of the synapses, to use more of the mighty forebrain and fewer of the dark, reptilian parts in the back. You have to do it. There is no choice. Russell Simmons will explain to me how my ear is an embryo, and I will decide whether to listen, whether to accept. I’ll probably be reminded of Krush Groove, particularly the scene when Rick Rubin is in his underpants. And who knows? Perhaps the advice of Russell Simmons will be like a large and expensive sneaker kicking me in the ass, in a good way.

I have begun behavior modification therapy. Which, as far as i can tell, involves looking into my brain and finding all the ways it’s broken.We are looking at my “Core Beliefs” and “*Filters.”

* “A filter is an extremely stable and enduring pattern of thinking that develops during childhood and is elaborated throughout an individual’s life. We view the world through filters.” (Young, 1999)

Not surprisingly i scored very high on many filters that are bad. BAD. Highest on the list were self-sacrifice, vulnerability to harm and illness, emotional deprivation, and defectiveness/social undesirability.

Of course i am pessimistic, at best, about all this hocus-pocus and nobody wants to know how screwed up they are. Do they? I know i’m supposed to be learning from this. Looking at these “filters” and understanding why i feel the way i do. All i see is that i am socially undesirable and vulnerable all wrapped up in an emotional straightjacket.

Lots of homework. Mood logs to fill out. I just have so much trouble being honest. Seeing the benefit in all of this when it leaves me swirling in a muddy pit of despair.

I think the biggest misunderstanding about depression is that a person has control over it.

That i should be grateful for what i have – just get over myself. Believe me i am grateful and i would give every penny i have to just get over it.

Since being in the hospital, which is such a humbling and embarrassing situation to be in, and changing medications my sadness has changed. It’s not right there on the surface anymore. I no longer well up with tears at the thought of any mildly sad thought. It’s deeper now. It’s more all consuming. I just can’t brush it off. I can ignore it, but happiness and laughter completely elude me now.

I am working harder than ever at keeping it all together. Keeping the house clean, doing laundry, taking the kids on adventures. Ensuring that everything around me is not falling apart.

My children are happy. They frolic about in the yard, enjoying the sun that has finally appeared, making up games. Being kids. Oblivious to the giant, often frightening world around them. They have everything they need, including plenty of love from me.

I’m not sure why i feel this need to defend myself, or more aptly my mothering skills. But, when i open myself up to this giant world of therapy it is difficult not to focus on all the ways i am broken. There is little to no thought about the things i have done right.

Finding The Immediate Possibilities, Letting Go Of The Fear

It may seem obvious, but if you are completely immobile because you are afraid you’ll make a mistake, you can’t move forward and get through the problem. I have a suspicion that most of my depression comes from that place. I wake up feeling so scared that I’ve already failed, that there is no reason to do anything, because I’m just going to make things so incredibly worse than the hell it already is.

One way to help myself through this is to make a list of things I can do. And I mean writing it down as an actual list, because if I’m just saying it in my head, it isn’t real enough. I need to put it down on paper. There have been times when the list contains only one item, but one is still more than the none I had before I started.

Here is an actual list from 2003:

yoga
take a walk
draw
work on book

Here is an actual list from 1999:

breathe

Meditate sometimes makes the list but it depends a lot on where my level of depression is at the moment. If I’m too low, trying to meditate turns into sitting really still and telling myself I’m doing it all wrong, all wrong, all wrong. Not very helpful. Things that require less brain power are better.

It works the best when I only put things on the list that I know for sure I can actually do right at that moment. If I put exercise on the list with the intention of doing it later because right now seems too hard but I’m almost sure I’ll be able to do it later that afternoon, I’ve already set myself up to fail. It would be different if I felt ready to exercise right at that moment.

Once I make the list, I take a moment to do a little positive thinking on my own behalf. I look at my fine list and congratulate myself, with the absolute most sincerity that I can muster, on making a list of things I can do successfully. I cannot fail if I stick to my list. Nice job, me. I’ve been known to say these things aloud, which makes it more real, if I’m feeling brave.

And once I do one or two things on my list, I congratulate myself again. With each success it becomes more real. And I become less afraid. I suppose to someone who doesn’t suffer from depression, this might seem silly. But, to the people that do, it can be a lifesaver.

Once, the first time I was in a mental hospital, I remember sitting in a group of women who were all discussing their situations, the gravity of them, and feeling quite out of place. One mentioned how her husband threatened to leave her. Another told how her kids were afraid of her and had never been the same after the morning they found her on the bathroom floor in her own vomit and blood. And yet another talked about how she didn’t think she could manage life on the outside and she hoped they never sent her home.

I remember looking around the room at these women who were sharing their secrets and fears and feeling like a fish out of water. In that moment I saw no connection between myself and them. I could find no similarities between me and the woman who had just intentionally crashed her car into a tree and had been brought in, tied up in a straitjacket, just the night before. And more than that, I didn’t want to.

It’s a scary thing to open yourself up to the possibility that you might be the same on some level as the people locked in a mental facility. But I’m still amazed it took me over a week to realize that I was locked in there with them. If someone had something in common with them, it was me. I just hadn’t dared realize it yet. I’m not suggesting everyone’s reality is that extreme but to some extent, most of us keep hiding from ourselves until our Selves demand to be seen. Read more »