One step forward, two steps back- Waltzing with the black dog

What would it be like if you were trying to dance with someone who had four legs? You would have maybe half of your steps in time (accounting for their extra limbs), a pattern could be very hard to establish, and even if you did for a while it would seem disjointed and possibly as unnatural as the haphazard mess had moments before. The black dog doesn't have a clear rhythm, doesn't listen to the music directing it very well, steps on your toes all too often and just when you think it's moved to Argentina to instruct tango permanently it returns home again unexpectedly with all new moves you weren't ready for.

This is exactly how I feel living with depression. 

For the first time in my life recently I've had a few glimpses of what life could be like coming out of what seemed like an eternity of darkness. As I have had depression and anxiety for as long as I can remember- having suicidal ideations at 10 is apparently not a "normal" thing for children, but for me I knew no other reality, living in the special abusive hell that I did. These periods of feeling "good" have been quite raw as they're an entirely new reality. I don't trust them. I wonder how long it will last, and expect that soon enough I will walk around the next corner and bump into the black dog again.

I have now been off anti-depressants for more than 9 months, which is the longest I've ever gone since first going on them when I was 17. That's 15 years ago- almost half of my life; my entire adult life so far. 

In the last few weeks I have been feeling very low again though. With instability in work and relationships triggering off insecurity, fuelling anxiety and partnering up with insomnia I have sobbed myself to sleep 3 nights this week- afraid of the inevitable nightmares that ensue, and waking up exhausted. I feel pathetic saying that, and the confession doesn't help the cycle. 

I really should keep a dream diary and sell it to the makers of horror films- the graphic, violent images and stories could make me millions. This is why I never like to watch horror films- my life has contained far too much of it already. 

Sorry- tangent over.

So as the mask of normality is slipping, and the weeks begin to grind past rather than running smoothly again I find myself questioning if I should go back on to medication. When someone first suggested it to me I crashed- for days I had random bouts of uncontrollable crying (very embarrassing at work if you start suddenly, and for no apparent reason). The thought that I had to go back on medication seemed like the ultimate failure, and that "recovery" or being well was never going to be a reality for me. This in turn reignited the inclination to give up entirely- with no hope for the future, and if I will never escape or be able to enjoy life, what is the point in continuing? 

But onward I trudged. No matter what steps the black dog decided to dance, I kept doing my own and instead of letting it trip me up, I'd more heavily, stubbornly maintain my pace. Being aware of the problem and what it wants to do is the first step to telling it to shut up, and not allowing it to take control.  After the black dog initially took the easy opportunity to do a dip in the middle of the dance- "Oh medication again?- that's a failure and you have to give up all hope! Down we go!" I let go of its hands (paws?) and chose to fall to the floor and get myself up rather than stay in its grips.

It's not easy. There are still days when I feel like staying in bed, and want to avoid the world, but on the whole the world feels less sharp and grating- more manageable. I can't count how many times I've lived through the same pattern and had it not go well. Perhaps it's like the world's slowest exercise- little by little over many years strength is built and the fight gets easier. Instead of crashing for weeks and not being able to do anything now it's a few days, and the lows aren't nearly as low as they used to be.

Having processed it now, I accept that I might have to go on medication again one day- perhaps several times- but that if I do, it will be for shorter periods (not 15 years!), and I have a small amount of confidence that I'll be able to live without it again.

The thing I am most afraid of is hope, but now it creeps in most days. Hope that I will be able to have healthy relationships with people. Hope that one day I will have a family- although racked with guilt, and the feeling that giving a child me as a parent would be a horrible decision. I have received assurances from many people though that they believe my high level of awareness and experiences with what terrible parenting is, and deep desire to do it well means I'd be highly unlikely to stuff it up, and would make me a good parent. Although I don't have the confidence to believe it entirely, I am able to take it on board as at least an equally valid assessment as the one the black dog whispers- you'll fail, you'll be terrible so don't try. 

I don't know how to measure success, or if I believe in "recovery" as it suggests that there was a state of wellness to begin with that you're returning to, which was never the case for me. Perhaps it's knowing that although there are plenty of dips in the dance, the music is still playing, and I find that now I can keep up with the steps most of the time.

Relating to Dexter's Darkness

Since the end of Dexter Series 7 in December 2011, I have gone through withdrawals. Breaking Bad was an entertaining interlude, but all series combined could not satisfy my Dexter-lust. I suppose I should be ashamed of having been a TV whore, and get on and read the books for my fix. 

As explored in my first post on Dexter, the character has many traits I relate to as having been a social outcast, and the feelings of dislocation from "normal" society. 

Here are some more excerpts:

" I just know there's something dark in me. I hide it. Certainly don't talk about it. But it's there. Always. This … Dark Passenger. How when he's driving, I feel … alive. Half-sick with the thrill, complete wrongness. I don't fight him. I don't want to. He's all I've got. Nothing else could love me, not even … especially not me. Or is that just a lie the Dark Passenger tells me? Because, lately, there are these moments that I feel connected to something else. Someone. It's like … the mask is slipping, and things, people, that never mattered before, are suddenly starting to matter. It scares the hell out of me."

As previously discussed, the darkness has strong synergies with experiences and descriptions of depression: that feeling that someone can see through your carefully constructed exterior, the shell that hides what you're ashamed of; a shift of your focus [the unfamiliar feeling of having a connection with a person] can shake the sense of security and leave you exposed and vulnerable; unaware of how to act in foreign territory.

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Miguel: "It doesn't have be this way"[with Dexter killing you!]
Dexter: "But it always does. I had high hopes for you, but I guess I just have to accept that I will always be alone."

As friendships, or even having a basic connection with a person is such an alien concept, it is easier to rationalise the situation as a blip in what is experienced as "normal". In order to cope, instead of becoming saddened or distressed at the conflict or loss of a friend (okay, it doesn't have to be through killing them, as in Dexter, but through an argument etc) by assimilating this information with the internal construction of self that "I am a loner, and will always be/ am better off alone", it is easier to cope with.



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[Enter hope] DM Monologue: "The Dark Passenger has been fighting against it, to keep me all to himself. But it is my turn now, to get what I want. To embrace my family. And maybe one day not so long from now, I’ll be rid of the Dark Passenger. It all begins with a getaway. Time away from the old me. Life doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to be lived"...[Dexter finds Rita's dead body] "But it doesn't matter what I do, what I choose... I'm what's wrong. This is fate."

Having battled depression for most of my life, I can't begin to explain how many times I've felt like this. I don't mean having someone murdered, but that, on finding hope, something happens to take that hope away, and you internalise its cause:

"What just happened is not only my fault [even when due to external/ uncontrollable circumstances] but happened because I innately deserve it [ie it's fate/karma etc because I'm a bad person] ". 

When internalising self as the root cause of all things bad which occur, this further transforms into not only "bad things always happen to me", but "bad things will always continue to happen to me, purely because I am me, and I deserve it".

It seems incredibly irrational when you say it out loud, or analyse it with the benefit of hindsight, but at the time it feels like an inescapable and endless hopeless situation.


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Dexter monologue: "Lumen said I gave her her life back... a reversal of my usual role. Well the fact is, she gave me mine back too.... Eyes that saw me, finally, for who I really am. And a certainty that nothing... nothing is set in stone. Not even darkness. While she was here, she made me think for the briefest moment I might even have a chance to be human. But wishes, of course, are for children. "

There are so many glimpses of hope- of a life that could be- but so suffocated by the world he knows, when Dexter fails to realise them he is quick to dismiss such thoughts as fleeting fantasies, and therefore unrealistic aspirations. 

This is not uncommon in life. A common scenario:

1- Having a fulfilling relationship 
2- losing that fulfilling relationship 

Then there are the options of how to deal with this:

3a [the depressed self]- resolving the loss of relationship into something which correlates with the damaged self-concept by rationalising it as having never been a realistic possibility  i.e. "I am not worthy of a relationship; should not have fooled myself into believing it was a possibility; therefore the loss was inevitable, even though I didn't foresee it previously". In a way it is the less painful way to deal with things as, although it may appear to some to be an incredibly sad thing- to write yourself and any hope you had off, by negating the thought that the relationship was a genuine chance in the first place, all that is left to deal with is feeling a bit foolish about having believed you had hope in the first place. 

or

3b [the rational self?]- challenging the self and potentially risking descending into conflict, depression, and issues which are harder and more complex to resolve- i.e. dealing with the actual loss itself.