An Unspoken Torment of the Mind, Part Three

The last of this three part post. Many apologies for the length.

Third Song of the Day: You Are the Pan by John Williams, from Hook

As I said before, there is a lot of shame associated with depression and anxiety. When you come down from an anxiety attack, you feel like an old dog who peed on the carpet. You feel so out of control, and weak, and you think that you are somehow less than the people around you who are totally fine and content. Maybe you don't, but I know the shame is a big thing with me. It's made worse when people become angry with me for feeling the way I do, when I simply cannot control it. I don't want to feel the way I do. I hate that I feel this way. I think people fail to understand that aspect of these disorders - the powerlessness and lack of control. When someone shames me (I understand occasional frustration, but I'm talking about people who become angry, embarrassed or reprimand me), it breaks a certain trust between me and that person. Where I could once be honest and open about how I feel, I now have to be in disguise.

Hmmm... Can't seem to pick which one to wear.

 

The hardest thing about these disorders is the sense of being alone. I feel that I need to keep it under wraps, so I often put up a funny face, or a mask of high energy. I goof off just to keep people laughing and happy, even if I'm torn apart on the inside. There is a part of me that is horribly afraid of revealing my true face, for fear that my friends will be displeased with what they see. I fear that they will begin to avoid me, or worse, stop being friends with me altogether. I want to be liked, but I'm afraid that I'm not loved.

Then there's the fear that I'm selfish, or taking advantage of my loved ones' generosity; that I'm talking about my problems too much. It's hard to tell where to draw the line between asking for help and being a leech. So, if I never talk about or express my issues with loved ones, then I'll never run the risk of becoming a burden or seeming narcissistic. Right?

That said, I love to try and make people laugh, and I love to enjoy life and goof off. That's a trait of mine, no matter the mood. The downside is that, in some serious situations, I'll use humor to put a wall between others and the pain that I'm feeling. I think this is something a lot of people who feel alone, as I'm sure Robin Williams did, choose to do.

I remember coming home from an evening at Amanda's and sitting down at the foot of my dad's bed - he was reading a book, as was his usual pre-bedtime routine - and I remember being terrified. When I finally told him how much pain I was in, how unhappy I'd been for the past few months and how I felt like I was losing my mind, his response was far from what I'd feared. He encouraged me. He listened. He did not try and stop me from expressing myself, and he let me cry. I opened up, and he accepted me. He talked with me about speaking with my doctor. We talked about my options. Words do not describe the relief I felt when that happened. Since then, my dad and I have been able to have long, open conversations about not just my issues, but life in general. Opening up on that one thing has helped open up our relationship.

The other conversation I had was with Amanda. While I was busy poking and prodding, I broke down. I recall telling her: "I can't live like this." For both of us, this was a scary thing to hear me say. I have never contemplated suicide. I have never begun planning or considered it. Yet I reached a point that day where I finally acknowledged that something had to change, because I was falling apart. As soon as I said those words, she was there for me. She, like my father, suggested that I talk to my doctor. I think it was the moment that we realized that there was something more going on than a little bit of hypochondria. Now, when I'm going through a hard time, I am able to tell Amanda that "I'm feeling it," and she doesn't shy away. She doesn't judge me.

I think it's incredibly important to be able to tell people when you're struggling with these kinds of issues. Once I'd started talking with my girlfriend, my parents, and my sisters about this, I realized how important it was to open up, and how much of a blessing my closest friends are. My best friends are able to help me with a balance of encouragement and humor. While one of these friends bought me a snow globe that depicted a post-apocalyptic NYC (a response to my depression and despair about the world), he also has been a shoulder to cry on, and a strong one at that. While another one of these friends will joke about my hypochondria, he also knows when what I need is seriousness and a listening ear.

There is an undercurrent in our society; an insidious belief that those who open up about their mental issues are crazy, or that they just want attention. I've even heard people say "oh, the anxiety is just an excuse." I hope that this post does not come across as overly narcissistic, attention-seeking, or excuse-making. The only way I can hope to open people's eyes to the kind of hardship that is anxiety and depression is by talking about my own time with it. I believe that people need to understand it.

My friends and my family saved me from a continuous downward spiral. To this day, they continue to show me how much they love me, and how much they are there for me. I might not be as bad as I once was, but with them at my side, I don't feel alone.

It is deeply saddening to me that a beautiful human being like Robin Williams, who was so loved and who brought so much good into the world with his actions, could find no way out of his pain but to end his life. I pray for him, for his soul, and that he has finally found peace.