Down the Rabbit Hole
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but I’ve struggled with chronic depression my whole life. Even at the happiest times of my life, I wrestle with this deadly beast and struggle not even to be happy, but just to maintain equilibrium. I think I realized that even when I was a little girl, something was not right; no little girl should succumb to such sadness for no externally propelled reasons. I was the little girl who thought I’d be better off dead and would cry hysterically at the end of The Secret of NIMH (although on second thought, who wouldn’t?) So, in addition to alcoholism that will never go away, I also have a black cloud perpetually over my head. Greeeeaaaaat. I used to get depressed just thinking about it, believing myself to be such a downer (hello, Eeyore). Alcohol used to make all this go away, and I could be fun, spontaneous and carefree. Of course, that crumbled surprisingly rapidly, and within three years, alcohol got the best of me and it didn’t work anymore. I even tried mixing antidepressants with my booze, but that’s a fun story for another time.
I have been on antidepressants since I was seventeen, except for the first few years of living on my own with no health insurance, and they definitely help suppress the overwhelming grief, but they don’t banish it completely. I still have manic episodes of moodiness, especially when I allow myself to Go There. There is that place where I let the weight of reality crush me, and there is no way to describe it but bleak despair. Even that pithy description doesn’t do justice to how I feel when I Go There. In spite of all my dreaming and romanticism, I am a realist and a tough critic at heart, which is what leads me There. I can call a spade a spade, and reality for me is a very dark, unforgiving place. Even though things are going pretty well for me right now, better than they’ve been in years, I went There last night. In this case, There was a life list I’d made years ago of all the places I’d hoped to go in my twenties. I stumbled on this list as I cleaned up my old computer folders, and it provoked such deep grief within me I wept with everything I had. It’s an ambitious list, even for a fevered travel seeker like myself, but what got me down was that I had only been to one of those places, and the odds of scratching any of those places off my list are below minimal. I felt like such a dismal failure. The crushing financial burden the size of a large down payment on a house which I’ve operated under for the past few years (another fun story involving the fabulous U.S. healthcare system) virtually guarantees that I will exit my twenties exactly as I feared; stuck here. Being stuck here, in this city I’ve always despised is my greatest nightmare, and it appears I’ve spent my twenties living out my greatest nightmare.
I know I’m not alone, and I know that millions of people struggle with chronic depression, but that’s the evil influence of the disorder – I feel so alone, so deep within myself that no one else may join me there. My mother used to ask me “what’s wrong?” and the few counselors I’ve seen have encouraged me to journal about my feelings. Not to piss on either of these tactics of handling depression, but it isn’t possible to accurately capture the darkness that envelopes me, and when I try, I just sink deeper because I’m dwelling on it. All of the adjectives used to describe the condition simply fall short.
I know I’m not alone. If you’re like me, and like others, reach out. Try to find others like us. Not feeling alone is a step in the right direction.
7 Comments
Kaylen
First of all, I’m loving this blog because I feel so close to you even though you are so far away. you describe ‘There’ so well. As you said, you know this will be a continuous struggle but thank God you have medication, a great husband, sobriety and a bigger box of tools to deal with it. I wish I could help you, but I know I can’t. It’s hard as a friend when you know you can’t do more.
I’m going to focus on the travel bit – When I went to visit Whitney a few weeks ago, I lamented that living in a city has been so expensive that I feel like I haven’t traveled nearly as much as I had wanted to or imagined I would have by this point in my life. But, I loved living in the city so much that I continued to justify this sacrifice. Whitney said that I might feel doubly motivated to constantly justify my life choice because it would never be worth it to live here if I didn’t love it. I am only going to Europe for the second time in my life (and again not really on my dime) just before I exit my twenties. I may live in the city, but I feel like I spend every vacation traveling back to California. The thing is, I admire that you dream Natti. I don’t allow myself to even get ‘There’ to a place where I had such high hopes that I am now disappointed that I haven’t achieved them. I admire dreamers. I admire you. you remind me that it’s worth having aspirations and bigger goals than we can see as a possible reality. Otherwise, it’s just the here and now (which is great and so important). But, the really passion comes from those dreams. Thank you for sharing.
Love you,
K
natalie
Wow, what a substantial response! 🙂 Thank you, Kaylen, for always being there waiting for me once I crawl out of “There.” “There” is sometimes a useful place, where I get serious thinking done, like wrestling with a dragon and coming out on the other side the victor, with a clearer purpose or a renewed sense of content and gratitude for where I am. I know I hold up standards that are too high – reality isn’t my specialty. Hearing you share is good – it reminds me that I’m not alone in frustrations over life vs. plans.
Lindsey
Thanks for directing me to this post, Natalie. Even though I’m in a much healthier place now, it’s never 100% gone and it’s a comfort to understand what I read of others because it means they understand me, too.
Hailey
Gurlfrannn… you are speaking my language (which, fittingly, is English- so unfortunate and boring and common, right?). I am in this place constantly- never feeling like the life I have lives up to the life I dreamed of, feeling trapped inside a house, job (or the illusion of one), and place that doesn’t suit me. Having to explain my anxious discontent to my breadwinning, hardworking, stable husband who misinterprets it as ungratefulness or unhappiness with him. Over the years I started telling myself one thing over and over and I am starting to believe it: the life I have now IS the life I wanted- I chose it all because it was what I wanted. Given the choice between hypothetically living in a van, traveling with a band of gypsy artists, living in a war-torn jungle, and having passionate flings with mysterious men… or falling in love and marrying a normal guy from my “home town”, having pets, buying a house, finishing my degree, and seeking a stable income… I obviously, chose the latter, every time. I think it’s the doom of perpetually right-brained artists like ourselves. We’re weird and volatile and never know what we want, which is why we are sometimes drawn to the most predictable, stable, and familiar things. In a sense, I think we’re right where we have always needed to be.
Natalie the Singingfool
I TOTALLY AGREE, Hailey. I think we married very similar men, too; logical, stable, and can’t understand why I can’t just be happy with the 9-5 desk job. I chose this life, and I wouldn’t change most of the decisions I have made, but there’s always that discontent and the not feeling quite right with where I am…but when I take a step back, I know that this stability is good for me, where I need to be. A stable platform from which to dream and reach.
Thanks for reading, and thanks for sharing. 🙂
Cathy
I’ve been purusing your blog for a few hours… what a delight it’s been. And then I came across this one. And it touched me. Yep… I knnow *There* all too well. As a matter of fact, I go *There* so often, I have a standing reservation and a room all my own. It’s dark, bleak, and starkly different from what I expect, and yet I go *There*, to that room, every time.
It’s crushing.
And although I don’t have the answer to cancel that reservation *There* just yet, it is comforting to know that others understand that gravity that pulls us back, even when we don’t want to go.
If you don’t know, you just can’t understand.
Anywhoodles… your blog is just fantastic and I’m tickled that I found it today!
Natalie the Singingfool
I’m glad you found your way here! Even thought this one’s a bit of a downer, and I am sorry you’re acquainted with the same type of pain, you’re right: if you don’t know, you just can’t understand. Sharing the struggle lightens the load a little, and brings us together.
Thanks for reading. 🙂