REMEMBERING DEPRESSION

2024 Author: Harry Day | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-17 15:43

When I quit smoking, many people asked me how I felt, "what is it like to breathe deeply", "you feel like you have already recovered", etc. It was surprising to me myself, but I did not notice much difference. All the conveniences and pluses boiled down only to the fact that over time an understanding came of that independence when your life goes on as usual, without looking back at "where to smoke", "when it will be already possible to pause for a smoke break" and "omg, there is only one cigarette".

I expected the same with depression therapy. Since she will not be able to significantly change my life - she will not give money, she will not return the dead, she will not look after the children for me, and I already knew how to find positive in the environment. By and large, I would have continued to think positively, eat chocolates and once a week make jerks-feats to do chores around the house, but one fine day, returning home from work, I looked back while crossing the road (cars are always hard to see behind the hood) and Suddenly I thought, what if I hadn't turned my head, but just stepped and that's it? Who would be lost if I was gone? Who would buy? Thinking about colleagues, friends, children and loved ones, my brain drew a picture of how their life would continue in the same rhythm and if something changed, it would not be long. I cried for no reason and, no matter how I consoled myself, I could not stop.

Half an hour passed - an hour. When it became impossible to stop crying after 2 hours, I felt scared from myself, I panicked and called an ambulance. "Neurosis. Let's inject a sedative. The effect will be temporary, go to the doctor tomorrow." On the one hand, the realization of the worthlessness of my existence fell upon me, I realized that I did not decide anything and did not influence anything. On the other hand, I realized that I could not control myself even in elementary crying, what then can we say about more serious impulses? There was nothing further to pull. After the psychiatrist said that the treatment would start working not earlier than in a month, I started looking for a psychologist at the same time.

I did not expect anything magical from psychotherapy itself. The first thing I needed was to feel the ground under my feet, to make sure that everything was in order with my head and that everything I did would not lead me back to that uncontrolled cry. I needed to understand what was happening to me and how to deal with it. From the pills, it seemed that my head was about to burst, so I asked to meet more often, so that the specialist, simply listening to me from the outside, would give feedback that everything was within reason with me, that I was not crazy and that I was going in the right direction.

We didn’t talk about anything significant, we didn’t plan anything serious, we didn’t have any catharsis or insights. The only thing that was important for me at that time was not to miss our meetings, because it seemed to me that obligations to another person, if something happened, could stop me. You might think that by sharing responsibility you are only throwing your problems onto others, but in fact it stimulates when you realize that your actions will also affect the person who pulls you out. The more the psychotherapist worked with me, the more I learned about the patterns in my condition and felt that everything was fixable, a barely perceptible confidence appeared. Most of all, I was impressed by the fact that she did not force me to be active, we just talked about nothing, did not dig anything from childhood, did not nightmare our parents, did not make lists of goals, did not run anywhere and did not look back at anyone. From time to time I wanted to ask when we would start to change something, but I did not dare, because after these meetings I felt like after a shower. Not in the sense that I was cleaning myself, but in the sense that for a long time the shower was the only place where I could be quietly with myself, without explaining anything to anyone, without asking, without making excuses … Just warm my spine and think about something of its own.

*****

As they say, that day "nothing foreshadowed", but how it burst through me. I realized that the cry that scared me so much and that I could not stop, it was the cry of my soul about all the unspoken sorrow. I've been strong for too long. I have always believed that people do not care about other people's suffering and have always tried to be only cheerful and positive. If I had any trouble, I never asked for help, but courageously overcame everything myself. Only after a while I could tell others "how difficult it was, but I did it." When my heart became completely unbearable, I thought about the "starving children of Africa" and that I am strong, I can handle it, but others certainly need more help. But most of all I was finished off by the realization that I felt guilty for my pain and for my grief. Because you couldn't complain, you couldn't upset your loved ones with my bad mood, you couldn't get sick, you couldn't be sad or anxious, you couldn't get tired or be useless, you couldn't be yourself if it didn't bring joy to others … Even as a child I have was the nickname "Bell", because I have always been ringing, cheerful and groovy … Nobody likes people who have any problems …

Every week, from meeting to meeting, I just remembered and wrote down what else I need to tell the therapist, what to complain about, what to pour out my soul about. Every nasty thing from the past, which I wrapped in a wrapper of "positive psychology" and "philosophy of tolerance", I slowly unwrapped and treated my therapist. And instead of stopping this flow of bile from the "ungrateful girl, selfish" she only pulled more and more melancholy out of me, listened to every detail. And I cried again, because in those days I needed to be listened to and given the opportunity at least for a day not to make any decisions … And they did not say that I was strong and I could handle it.

I didn't know what the result of psychotherapy should look like. It seemed to me that I should become cheerful, not think about problems, take an active interest in my future, etc. But the first thing that I remember was not the moment when I laughed heartily for the first time in many years … and not the day, as it is all productive -active day I remained full of strength and desires … as well as the wrong feeling when I realized that my husband is interesting to me as a man, and my children are incredibly talented and sincere …

The first thing I remember is how I started to discover the taste of food and different smells. Yes, I felt it before, but now it was completely different, especially. I understood why I ate so much even when my stomach was full. The taste was not enough for me and I took not in quality, but in quantity. And now, when I wrapped myself in a blanket and closed my eyes from the light, I felt the small hands softly touch my face. I woke up after a long sleep. I felt, and these feelings were from childhood, when only autumn smells of burnt leaves, when the hair smells differently from frost and sun, when in the air you can catch the smell of a pond and barbecue. My body was warm and soft, my hair silky, even stepping in heavy winter boots, I felt lightness, as if in my childhood I walked in sneakers along a winding mountain path, just as easily and quickly. I wanted to lay lightly starchy, freshly washed linen and breathe in the aromas of cosmetic creams. So many smells, tastes and sensations came back from childhood that it seemed I became much younger.

I haven't finished my psychotherapy. When all your life you have represented what was convenient for others to see, it is somewhat difficult to understand where you are real, and where you are playing a given role. It so happened that despite the fact that my relatives are the most beloved and close people to me, it is difficult for them to give me what the psychotherapist gives me. Not to impose your vision of my situation, not to speak for me what I feel now and why this is happening to me, not to indicate how this or that issue should be resolved … After the psychiatrist canceled the treatment, I still continue to go to my psychologist. At first glance, you might think that our conversations are pointless and about nothing. But in fact, every time I only make sure that all our meetings are about me. About me the way I am, and not the way others want to see me.

But if you only knew how sweet milk can be …

The case was described by Anastasia Lobazova for the project "Territory of unjustified expectations"