Today I'm myself again. My husband made me go out and have fun, and thank God for him. He has never once uttered the fatal phrase "Just snap out of it" when I'm in the throes. Instead he knuckles down and hands me a lifeline.
You see, folks, there are 2 types of depression. One is the normal kind that everyone gets on occasion, called "the blues." It usually has a reason. The other kind, which goes under many labels, doesn't have a reason. Sometimes something triggers it, but the response is so far in excess of the trigger it looks from the outside like an overreaction. This one is caused by something in the brain, some kind of chemical imbalance that doctors still don't completely understand. Hey, they still don't know how aspirin works, either.
This kind isn't just you, feeling down. This kind is like a separate entity. Churchill suffered from it and called it the Black Dog. I always felt like I'm drowning, hence the Black Flood. It sucks all the light and joy out of you like a Harry Potter Dementor to the point you can't remember anything good in your life. You can't snap out of it. You're drowned, and can't find the way up by yourself. Readers, if you know anyone who's having this, make them get help. And you'll have to MAKE them - they might not have enough of themselves left to do it. 20 years ago, a friend drop-kicked me to a psychiatrist. I didn't want to go because I hadn't had any luck with them before. This one took my history and promptly began prescribing antidepressants until one worked with minimal side effects. I have been on Prozac since, and it saved my life. My innate stubbornness helped. I would NOT commit suicide because if I did, IT would win. No way would I let IT win. At that time, though, my condition had progressed to where that was the only thought I could hang on to. And it was slipping.
A thousand blessings to the friend and the psychiatrist, and to the inventors of Prozac.
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