Let’s keep talking about depression. Here is the previous post I wrote about it. I’ve had it all my life, and in the past, I had just accepted that it was part of my life. Which it was. Until I had my medical crisis and my depression went away. Not all of it, mind, but 90% of it–which is amazing. For the first year after my medical crisis, I was so grateful to be alive. I felt peace in a way that I haven’t in any other time of my life.
I would look out the window and just marvel at being alive. That’s not something I have ever done in my life before. Every cup of coffee tasted extra-strong, and every weapon form was extra-meaningful (once I could do the weapons again). I’m not being flip when I say that dying puts a different perspective on life.
However (and you knew that I was going to qualify it), that state of mind can’t last forever. It’s simply not possible to not revert to the mean over time. What I’m saying is that, even the miraculous becomes normal over time. Yes, it’s still amazing that I’m alive when I should have stayed dead. Yes, I still feel that in my bones, deeply. But it’s not on the forefront of my mind as it was for the first two years.
Now, for the first time since my medical crisis, I had the thought that maybe it would have been better if I had died for good. It was fleeting, and I was able to dismiss it, but it shook me that it’s happening at all.
Life is hard right now. And with depresion, it’s a slippery slope. For me, anyway. It starts out mild and then before you know it, I’m on the couch and can’t get off it. At least that’s how my old depression worked. Plus, my sleep gets even suckier than normal, and I’m jsut blah all over the place.
Now, it’s different. I’m not on the couch, but I’m not any more productive. My brain feels fracture, and my life is so gray (as I said in the last post).
In the past, depression was just a part of me. There was no rhyme or reason to it. This time, however, there are specific reasons for it. In late February, I had a major tragedy happen to me. It was expected, but still sudden. What made it weirder was that it happened the day (and the day after) the Elden Ring DLC trailer dropped. Which was…a thing. And cast a pall on something I had been anticipating for literal years.
I dealt with the tragedy at the time surprisingly well. As I said, I was expecting it to happen–just not at that particular time and so quickly. I still don’t want to say anything publically about it, though I have written several unpublished posts about it.
I say surprisingly, but it’s not surprising at all. One, ah, positive of having PTSD is that I’m very calm and cool in a crisis. See, I’m alwayst imagining the worst-case scenario, so when I’m in one, it’s my time to shine. Nothing can be worse than my brain, you see, not even dying. Twice. It’s when the outside matches the inside of my brain, and there’s a certain quietness and solidness to it that calms the fires of my brain.
It’s like tnhe pandemic. When it first started, people were, rightly, freaking out. I went to the grocery store about a week before the lockdown, and there was a definite panic in the air. What was I doing? Trying to find toilet paper and rice. I wasn’t panicked as I did it, though. See, I’m used to being at home and alone, and it wasn’t a huge change for me.
Of course, I was scared about the pandemic and what that might mean (and, boy, did that turn out to be a hot mess), but personally, it did not have nearly as much effect on me as it did on many other people. I kept that mostly to myself, but I could not deny it. I think being a big introvert had something to do with that, too. But it was more that I had no problem being inside and doing what I needed to do from home. I will add that I was extremely privileged and fortunate to be able to not have to worry about going out, by the way
Another reason for my depression–the worsening of my father’s dementia. Not for the reasons you might assume, though. It’s not the dementia itself or my mother’s dumpnig all her stress on me as she’s his primary (and doing the heavy load) caregiver. I mean, all of that is true and does not help, but it’s something else. It’s beacuse with the realization that my parents are on their last journey on this earth, all of the past dysfunction is fucking with my mind.
I have made my peace that they will never change. I knew that decades ago. It’s one thing to know it, though, and it’s another thing to know it. One time in therapy, I was talking about how hard it was knowing that I would never be the daughter my mother wanted me to be. I said I knew I had failed her–over and over again. I know who I am should not be seen as a repudiation of her, but she viewed it in that light, anyway. And, when I was younger, I was made to feel that this was a failing on my part.
My therapist pointed out my mother had not been the mother I needed her to be, either, and that blew my mind away. See, my mother had been so effective in making me think that tnhe friction in our relationship was all my fault. If I could just feel, think, do, and be what she wanted me to feel, think, do, and be, then we would be fine.
My mother also retcons our history to say that we were close when I was younger and that it was my therapist’s fault that we grew more distant. I mean, she’s not wrong, but to put it in more realistically, it was my therapist who helped me see that setting boundaries with my mother was ok. More than being ok, it was a healthy thing to do as an adult. Oh, my mother pushed back against it and tried to invoke Taiwanese culture to disparage my therapist for this.
My mother: “In Taiwanese culture, family is so important.” Yes, but that doesn’t mean that Taiwanese culture gets it completely right, either. The idea that children owe everything to their parents is just plain wrong. And, there are broken people in every culture as well. My parents would be over the line in any culture, really.
And here is one of the main causes of my depresison. My parents don’t love me as a person. Or as their child, really. they love the idea of their daughter or having one at least–well, I’m not even sure that’s true. My father does not love anyone, not even himself. Hm. I think I would actually say the same about my mother. At any rate, even if I could say they loved the idea of me, they certainly don’t like me. And I mean me as a person in this case.
Done for today. More tomorrow.