Depression is nourished by a lifetime of ungrieved and unforgiven hurts. ~Penelope Sweet
I hated my job. I felt like my life was going no where. I was beating myself up constantly, which was easy for me, since I had spent my life learning where my weak spots were and I could jab myself with a sharp stick nearly any time I felt the need, and I felt the need constantly. I got so blue, that I wasn’t big bad blue, I was navy blue. I hated my life, and saw no signs that it was going to get better. I felt abandoned by God, so I’d gotten to the place where I no longer believed in heaven, so even after life offered me no respite.
Depression is the inability to construct a future ~Rollo May
I wasn’t suicidal. I just wasn’t that crazy about being alive. I remember thinking that I would not do anything to kill myself, but I didn’t care if I died.
My next thought was that in the old days people didn’t have all the medications they have now, and taking medications just artificially prolonged life, and why would I want to do stuff to force my body to live longer than it was going to live naturally (meaning med free)? I decided that I was not going to kill myself, but I was no longer going to take any medication.
There was another reason for this thought: even with insurance, and my drug co-pays, I was still spending over $250 per month just in co-pays for my drugs. I stopped my thyroid, my high blood pressure drugs, my Type II diabetic meds, my high cholesterol, my antidepressants, my anti-anxiety pills.
I remember watching this episode of Scrubs where the hospital attorney Ted played by Sam Lloyd, is standing on the top of the hospital contemplating a jump to his death, but he loses his nerve. Then someone startles or bumps Ted and he falls off the top of the building. As he is plummeting earthward and he starts shouting, “I did it! Sweet relief! I did it!”
Mysteriously and in ways that are totally remote from normal experience, the gray drizzle of horror induced by depression takes on the quality of physical pain . . . it is entirely natural that the victim begins to think ceaselessly of oblivion. ~ William Styron
The lawyer falls into a big pile of garbage and is saved. (It can only be funny if no one is really hurt). The scene stayed with me. I felt the same way. I wasn’t to the point where I would take overt steps to kill myself, but if I were to die, I saw it as sweet relief.
Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm. ~Steven Wright
That is when I made my big mistake. I told my shrink about that scene from Scrubs, and then let it out that I had stopped my meds.
Later that night my shrink called me at home and told me she wanted me to go check myself in to the crisis stabilization unit at the local hospital, or she was going to call the police and have me involuntarily committed.
I had to make a decision: if I didn’t go voluntarily I would have a Baker Act on my record and that would follow me and could impact future employment. So I caved and went down and checked myself in. I was afraid to do all this. I was afraid this would affect my job. I was suppose to be at work the following morning, and now my wife was going to have to call up my boss and tell her that I was in the Nut House.
Now I had been in the hospital for a knee replacement, a shoulder joint reconstruction, and a heart catheterization and all of those experiences had been great. I have never felt more cared for and treated nicer than when I was in the hospital. The nurses were fantastic, bringing me coffee, asking me about my pain level, helping me up or back into bed. I loved being in the hospital. It wasn’t like that in the Nut Factory wing of that hospital.. It was humiliating. The do a strip search, and check your anus for drugs or weapons. I was wearing sweat pants with a cord in the waist band and that is something you could hang yourself with, so I was forced to wear only a hospital gown, the kind that open in the back. When I go into the unit I’m the only one wearing this gown. I was a smoker, but there was no smoking allowed. I was given a patch to wear.
They had a bunch of rules there. I like to draw and write, but I was only allowed to use crayons and one of those stubby pencils that you get when you keep score at miniature golf courses
The people there were mostly alcoholics, but there were people there that were very unpleasant to be around. I sat by myself and tried not to draw any attention to myself. They had color sheets there in a big stack and I turned them over and drew and colored on the back. There was one TV mounted high where the inmates couldn’t reach it, and they let the patients vote on what to watch. The vote was reruns of Charmed a show about witches. I’m not sure how they found it, but they seem to have found a station that showed nothing but Charmed episodes one after another.
I was obviously depressed, and being in the Nut Factory only made me feel worse. I was so far gone they had to lock me up. I was a crazy loser and I now had indisputable proof of this fact.
They hospital put me back on all my medications, and changed my anti-depressant to the highest dose allowed of Pixel. My sugar was high and they not only gave me Metformin, but they boosted that with insulin injections to bring my blood sugar levels down. They had group sessions every afternoon and a Psychiatrist came to see me every morning. I spent most of my time sitting and feeling this feeling similar to being crushed. Even taking in air was an effort.
Was it my own fault? Yes.
Depression is a prison where you are both the suffering prisoner and the cruel jailer. ~ Dorothy Rowe
Of course we depressed folk do it to ourselves. Maybe we blame our childhood, or our bad breaks, but the truth is, we depression is a choice, and it is logical that if you have chosen to be depressed you should be able to chose to be (and to feel) something else.
You largely constructed your depression. It wasn't given to you. Therefore, you can deconstruct it. ~ Albert Ellis
I hated my job. I felt like my life was going no where. I was beating myself up constantly, which was easy for me, since I had spent my life learning where my weak spots were and I could jab myself with a sharp stick nearly any time I felt the need, and I felt the need constantly. I got so blue, that I wasn’t big bad blue, I was navy blue. I hated my life, and saw no signs that it was going to get better. I felt abandoned by God, so I’d gotten to the place where I no longer believed in heaven, so even after life offered me no respite.
Depression is the inability to construct a future ~Rollo May
I wasn’t suicidal. I just wasn’t that crazy about being alive. I remember thinking that I would not do anything to kill myself, but I didn’t care if I died.
My next thought was that in the old days people didn’t have all the medications they have now, and taking medications just artificially prolonged life, and why would I want to do stuff to force my body to live longer than it was going to live naturally (meaning med free)? I decided that I was not going to kill myself, but I was no longer going to take any medication.
There was another reason for this thought: even with insurance, and my drug co-pays, I was still spending over $250 per month just in co-pays for my drugs. I stopped my thyroid, my high blood pressure drugs, my Type II diabetic meds, my high cholesterol, my antidepressants, my anti-anxiety pills.
I remember watching this episode of Scrubs where the hospital attorney Ted played by Sam Lloyd, is standing on the top of the hospital contemplating a jump to his death, but he loses his nerve. Then someone startles or bumps Ted and he falls off the top of the building. As he is plummeting earthward and he starts shouting, “I did it! Sweet relief! I did it!”
Mysteriously and in ways that are totally remote from normal experience, the gray drizzle of horror induced by depression takes on the quality of physical pain . . . it is entirely natural that the victim begins to think ceaselessly of oblivion. ~ William Styron
The lawyer falls into a big pile of garbage and is saved. (It can only be funny if no one is really hurt). The scene stayed with me. I felt the same way. I wasn’t to the point where I would take overt steps to kill myself, but if I were to die, I saw it as sweet relief.
Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm. ~Steven Wright
That is when I made my big mistake. I told my shrink about that scene from Scrubs, and then let it out that I had stopped my meds.
Later that night my shrink called me at home and told me she wanted me to go check myself in to the crisis stabilization unit at the local hospital, or she was going to call the police and have me involuntarily committed.
I had to make a decision: if I didn’t go voluntarily I would have a Baker Act on my record and that would follow me and could impact future employment. So I caved and went down and checked myself in. I was afraid to do all this. I was afraid this would affect my job. I was suppose to be at work the following morning, and now my wife was going to have to call up my boss and tell her that I was in the Nut House.
Now I had been in the hospital for a knee replacement, a shoulder joint reconstruction, and a heart catheterization and all of those experiences had been great. I have never felt more cared for and treated nicer than when I was in the hospital. The nurses were fantastic, bringing me coffee, asking me about my pain level, helping me up or back into bed. I loved being in the hospital. It wasn’t like that in the Nut Factory wing of that hospital.. It was humiliating. The do a strip search, and check your anus for drugs or weapons. I was wearing sweat pants with a cord in the waist band and that is something you could hang yourself with, so I was forced to wear only a hospital gown, the kind that open in the back. When I go into the unit I’m the only one wearing this gown. I was a smoker, but there was no smoking allowed. I was given a patch to wear.
They had a bunch of rules there. I like to draw and write, but I was only allowed to use crayons and one of those stubby pencils that you get when you keep score at miniature golf courses
The people there were mostly alcoholics, but there were people there that were very unpleasant to be around. I sat by myself and tried not to draw any attention to myself. They had color sheets there in a big stack and I turned them over and drew and colored on the back. There was one TV mounted high where the inmates couldn’t reach it, and they let the patients vote on what to watch. The vote was reruns of Charmed a show about witches. I’m not sure how they found it, but they seem to have found a station that showed nothing but Charmed episodes one after another.
I was obviously depressed, and being in the Nut Factory only made me feel worse. I was so far gone they had to lock me up. I was a crazy loser and I now had indisputable proof of this fact.
They hospital put me back on all my medications, and changed my anti-depressant to the highest dose allowed of Pixel. My sugar was high and they not only gave me Metformin, but they boosted that with insulin injections to bring my blood sugar levels down. They had group sessions every afternoon and a Psychiatrist came to see me every morning. I spent most of my time sitting and feeling this feeling similar to being crushed. Even taking in air was an effort.
Was it my own fault? Yes.
Depression is a prison where you are both the suffering prisoner and the cruel jailer. ~ Dorothy Rowe
Of course we depressed folk do it to ourselves. Maybe we blame our childhood, or our bad breaks, but the truth is, we depression is a choice, and it is logical that if you have chosen to be depressed you should be able to chose to be (and to feel) something else.
You largely constructed your depression. It wasn't given to you. Therefore, you can deconstruct it. ~ Albert Ellis
After a week, the Psychiatrist said I could stay longer if I wanted, but she thought I was stable enough to go home if I felt up to it. I was not to work for another two weeks. I resented my shrink and my wife for forcing me into that place. I didn’t feel it was fair. I still don’t think it was fair. I hadn’t taken steps to cause me to die; I just refused to accept meds. People do that all the time. Cancer patients sometimes choose to stop treatment, because they don’t want to prolong their life with their disease, and no one calls that suicide. I didn’t want to prolong my life with my disease, but I was not causing my death, I just wasn’t doing anything to make it go longer than it would naturally last.
Mike Wallace was on a bunch of the Public Service Ads where he says something like, “If you are depressed there is nothing to be ashamed of. Seek treatment and you can beat it, just as I have.”
I was pissed off at Mike Wallace. There was nothing to be ashamed of for him, because he was this big 60 minutes TV star. I was not a big star. My employer decided that I could not return to work unless my shrink would write me a release, and she wouldn’t. She thought I needed more time, and that my job was contributing to my depression.
Being out of work is not the best way to fight your depression.
Some good did follow. Being pissed at my shrink I got a new shrink. The new shrink asked me about sleep, had me take one of those sleep tests and found out I had sleep apnea. I had seven episodes where I stopped breathing completely and 13 miner interruptions to my sleep because I just couldn’t draw in air. When I got my CPAP machine I started sleeping longer, and dreaming. I couldn’t remember the last time I had dreamed anything.
I changed anti-depressants and started reading stuff I call Buddhist psychology books. I am better. I am still not wild about life. I still try to figure out why I bother to live. I am not cured, and I am not sure I will ever be cured. I did learn to keep some of my thoughts away from my shrink.
I’m still working on myself. I am still struggling. I still have set backs where I wonder why I bother, or why anyone bothers to keep living. I haven’t given up.
Here is the test to find whether your mission on Earth is finished; if you are alive...it isn't. ~ Richard Bach
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