depression

This post is part 2 of a 3 part series I decided to do beginning with For My Friend.

This series is about mental health, specifically about depression.

I've never been shy talking about mental health issues, my own included (see also De-stigmatizing Mental Health) but when my friend, the friend I wrote For My Friend about took his own life, a victim of depression, I decided to share more of my own story. I do this as a tribute to my late friend, and also to encourage others with depression and other mental health issues to express themselves. If my words can encourage one person to voice their struggle instead of quietly ending their life, my time is well spent.

In this post, I will present something I wrote over 20 years ago. It's a personification of depression. After the text, I'll offer some insight into my thinking behind writing it.

depression

Oh how i've tasted

Your bitter fruit

Its caustic nectar

Stinging my flesh

As it drips down my face

Yet more and more i consume

And it, me

Nourishing my sad soul

Addicting me to the sting

Damning me to darkness

Alone

Kiss me once again

You wretched wench

Joy is fleeting

But your pain is eternal

On this i can depend

Kiss me yet again

The owls take flight

Hunting the evil good

To keep close

The safe bitterness

Fool!

Do you think i need

Your rank remedies?

That stink of your conceit

And your cure?

Why should i be saved

From that which is stable?

That which i know?

Honest is my maid

Always honest is she

The way of truth

And dark light

My maid doesn't deceive

As is your way

Deception your prime tool

For putting my gold in your pocket

You care nothing for me

Only the gold beast i unleash on your life Only she cares

She is my friend

And confidant

She is my queen

And my lover

i am her slave

Forever bound by her chains

Though i feel free

She doesn't lie

As your self-proclaimed deity ways do

My liege, my lady, is the darkness you say

But her light fires my soul

Keep your foul medicines

And your sick sanity

i follow the way of the truth

And the light

Preach your promises

Of happiness here no more

i'll no longer listen to your lies

Her dark light beckons me

And i must go

Her howl becomes ever insistent

Her putrid perfume

Cleanses me

Die in your deception fool!

i'll not need your tainted truth

Still say you i am without sanity?

Perhaps

But my lack of sanity is honest

And stable

And true

Thus, I am more sane than you

April 1, 1996 S.L. Orsborn

This piece was written within the first year of me trying medication for my depression.

The first, do I say paragraph, or stanza? Maybe stanza.

The first stanza introduces depression in the form that I personified it. Like a person, an entity that was outside of myself. An external locus of control, both cruel, and comforting. Painful, yet compelling.

I end that stanza referring to a feeling that is all too common for people living with mental health challenges...feeling damned to darkness, and alone.

The irony is, that I've worked on an acute mental health unit. I've worked to help people living with similar mental health issues as my own, while still struggling myself.

So many stories I've heard about people feeling ashamed of "not being able to snap out of it," or "just get over it." That shame often leads people to isolate themselves, either from the feelings of shame, the desire to protect others from the powerful feelings of despair, or sometimes both.

The fool referred to in the next stanza, and for the remainder of the piece is the first psychiatrist I ever worked with.

This man seemed uncomfortably obsessed with the potential sexual side effects of the medication he prescribed for me. During med check appointments, it felt like most of his questions were about whether or not I was having any difficulty with sexual performance. Looking back now, the sessions almost felt like a violation. I developed a loathsome contempt for this individual.

This time in my life was my first indication, though I didn't understand it at the time, that psych meds may not be the best option for me. The medication worked a little bit, for a little while, and then it didn't. This began a long road of trying many different types and brand names of psych meds. Anti-depressants, anti-anxieties, bipolar meds, anti-psychotics, mood stabilizers...all of it, the same thing. The would work for a while, then they didn't. I would max out of the dose, and I would be switched to another drug, or combination of drugs.

In the end, none of them worked.

Looking back, I was only about one year into trying medication for my depression, and I'm surprised at the intensity of phrases like "foul medicine", and "rank remedies." I should say that I am surprised at the level of intensity I felt that early in the process.

When I first wrote these words, happiness, joy, feelings of well being, all seemed like a lot of work.

Sometimes they still do.

They seemed to be something fragile, and easily shattered.

Sometimes they still do.

Depression (and it still feels this way now) felt more stable. I didn't have to work for it. It was always there, always available, and always ready to step in when the world seemed not quite right.

I speak as if this is all in the past; it's not.

Depression (and anxiety) is something I live with 24 hours a day, 365 days a year.

It is just one more thing I have to manage. I don't know as I will ever be rid of it.

I mean, it's been over 30 years so far...

One last thought in this analysis of the writing... notice how all of the "i" pronouns are lower case except one?

At the time of writing, I was SURE this was a subtle yet profound statement, that next to the depression I was small, and insignificant. That is until the last line when I find power of being in partnership with the depression, "Thus, I am more sane than you"

I am not as certain of the profundity of this lack of capitalization as I used to be, but I still think it makes a statement.