Depression During The Holidays

It was about this time last year that I went to my doctor because I thought I needed time off from work because I was suffering from burnout.  “You’re not burnt out, you have depression,” he said to me.  I didn’t get time off work, instead I got a prescription for anti-depressants.  I  wasn’t thrilled with that, but we had to try it his way before he gave me time off work.  I used the antidepressants and in April things got worse and he gave me time off.  Before going back to work I had two psychiatrists diagnose me with Major Depressive Disorder, better known simply as Depression.  

This September I went back to work full time and around the middle of November my depression started to rear its ugly head.  It was really tough to get through the last six weeks of the calendar year at school as thoughts like “I’m not a good teacher,” and “I’m not a good husband,” and “I’m not a good father,” and “I’m not a good brother,” and “I’m not a good son,” reeled through my head.  The rational part of my brain (the light wolf) knew that those thoughts were just that, thoughts.  But the emotional part of my brain (the dark wolf) believed it to be the absolute truth. 

On all the websites that talk about depression that I found they list fatigue as a symptom of the mental illness.  In my case, I think a more accurate term would be: profound exhaustion.  I wasn’t doing more work, or exercising harder during the weeks leading up to the holidays, and especially not during these holidays, but I don’t think we talk enough about how that profound exhaustion happens and what it can do to a person.  

In my experience, I’m in a constant battle with myself.  Trying to convince myself that I am, and can be, the man I want to be.  But one half of my brain keeps telling the other half that it’s not the truth and that I am not worthy.  I read a book once called “Become Who You Are,” and the author says that a cure for Depression is to prove to yourself who you are.  Do things that remind yourself that you are enough and create opportunities for yourself to live according to your values.  But even with that in mind, and trying to do all of that, the emotional half of my brain was telling me not to even bother because I’m not the man I want to be and I never will.  The battle in my brain between the light wolf and the dark wolf was sapping all of my energy and as the weeks wore on it became harder and harder to refill my tank.  

The holiday season is really stressful for me.  There isn’t one reason or one moment, or one ‘thing’ that I can point to that can identify why it's such a hard time for me, but I find it so stressful.  I always feel like I’m spread too thin and I always feel that despite my best efforts I’m (going) to let someone I love down.  Whether that thought is true or not, is besides the point.  That is just what my brain tells me, that’s my truth.  I want to say, here, that reminding me, a person with Depression, that “it’s just that time of year,” and that all we have to do is “get through these next few weeks,” isn’t always helpful.  I ALWAYS appreciate the supportive words, and the supportive intent, but if it was as easy as chalking it up to that time of year, or getting through the next few weeks, the battle wouldn’t be as daunting.  The exhaustion wouldn’t be as profound. 

I’m not just tired.  If I were just tired, I could chug a RedBull and power through.  But weeks and weeks, and even months and months, (and for some men it’s years and years) of fighting yourself to feel like you are enough is absolutely, fully and completely, draining.  Having an energy drink on the drive to work, and then three coffees at work, and then another energy drink on the drive home, I still fall asleep for three hours on the couch, wake up long enough to make a shitty dinner for my kids and put them to bed and then fall right back asleep for the rest of the night is not an unusual day for me.  It should not be possible to sleep on the amount of caffeine I consume in a day, and yet sleep consumes me only for me to wake up tired the next day.  

When I was younger and I thought about someone who had depression, I would think about a person curled up in bed not being able to function because they are so sad.  And maybe that’s the experience of some people, but for me now, I just want to stay curled up in bed because I'm profoundly exhausted and I want to just catch up on sleep.  Yes, it’s true that I am sad more often than not, but it’s not the sadness that keeps me down.  It’s the work that it takes to get past the sadness that keeps me down.  Every day feels like a performance.  Let me be more specific, every interaction feels like a performance, in the weeks leading up to the holiday and then especially during holiday.  And the performance is a) about trying to convince myself that I can be the man I want to be and b) to make everyone believe that everything is okay.  But it’s not okay.   

I DON’T WANT TO DIE, but my brain tells me that if I were dead I wouldn’t be a disappointment anymore.  My brain tells me that if I were dead I wouldn’t let anyone down anymore.  The light wolf is fighting for his life, for my life, while the dark wolf is doing his best to win it’s own battle. I’M SAFE.  I’m not making plans to end my life.  I DON’T WANT TO DIE.  SUICIDE IS NOT THE ANSWER.  But it’s a battle.  Fighting for my life is profoundly exhausting.  

I know that I have an amazing support network, and especially my wife, and I am forever thankful for that.  I can’t express how important it is to know who is in my corner, but the other night I was in bed talking to my wife about my depression, acknowledging that I have such an amazing support network, and that if worst came to worst I know I could check myself into the hospital.  I’m not there, though, I’m not checking myself into the hospital but it sucks that those thoughts come into my mind.  

I’m doing the best that I can.  I’m doing my absolute best to be who I think everyone wants and/or knows and/or needs me to be, and I’m doing my best to be every thing to everyone…but it’s fucking exhausting.