I’m experiencing debilitating depression right now. I’ve only been this low a few times in my life. I’m almost sure this is resulting from my hyperthyroid condition. Usually, I’m constantly on vibrate. My body trembles all the time as a result of Grave’s Disease. I only notice when playing my violin or writing manually. This is the third time I’ve experienced a rapid reversal from hyper to hypothyroid. It feels like gravity has increased significantly.
It took me a while to type that paragraph because sitting upright is requiring incredible effort. I don’t feel particularly sad. Hormones are fascinating. They have a shocking amount of control over my body. The effort required to hold my head upright is astonishing. I’m a little amused. I’m so detached from my body at the moment, it feels like I’m playing a video game created by Stanley Kubrick.
I realize I’m not supposed to enjoy debilitating episodes of depression. But like most other aspects of life, I don’t do it the usual way. My normal is happy-go-lucky. When I’m at my lowest, I transform into Negative Nancy at first. I’m embarrassed that I fall into this trap every single time, but I begin an episode of depression with a pity party. At least they only last about an hour. That’s as long as I can feel sorry for myself before it starts amusing me.
I end all pity parties with a long shower. I had my post-pity shower at 2:31 AM. Then I finished reading Daemon by Daniel Suarez. It was brilliant. It was like Ready Player One for hackers. It was my first novel by this author, and he’s already achieved auto-buy status, which is almost as good as Ernest Cline’s record. (He achieved auto-buy status on his first novel, Ready Player One.) If you’re a hacker and a gamer, read these books you must. I read Avenue of Mysteries by John Irving just prior. I remain in awe of his superpower of writing. Every time I read a book by John Irving, he moves into the top position in my author rankings. The title is merited, despite the fact that it’s basically rotated between Charles Dickens, J.K. Rowling, and Irving; depending on whom I last read. (Irving dropped a “Not to put too fine a point on it” in Avenue of Mysteries, much to my delight!)
I walked on the treadmill while still lingering in the world of Daemon. It was thought provoking and triggered my inner mad-scientist a bit. Then my mind started pointing out unbelievable aspects of the story, and I was ejected. I’m rereading Seven Eves by Neal Stephenson now. He’s a master at balancing imagination and believability. He pings on my neurodiversity radar because his writing language is highly comprehensible to me. I’ve read everything he’s published. I’m now in my cynical-about-everything mode. People who cope with depression know all about the way our rose-colored glasses get hijacked. I’m superb at debugging code when I’m in this mode. Unfortunately, holding my head up is so hard right now.
The small correction to my hormonal balance from walking is noticeable, but it didn’t free me completely. I traded my energy for a little boost. It was worth it. This state is amusing in a different way. I have incredibly dark thoughts about ways of ending myself, but no compulsion to act on them. It’s bizarre but mildly entertaining. I laugh at my self-imposed requirement of not making a mess when I kill myself. Considerate to the end.
I can’t help but laugh at myself. I’m still taking my Prozac as prescribed. I’m not worried about coping when I run out. Knowing me, I’ll learn yoga or something similar to help compensate a bit. I did get a call from the clinic where I was scheduled for a mammogram. She wanted to reschedule, and I could tell she felt frustrated by my decision not to do so. Her compassion is beautiful, though.
I’m not allowed to make life and death decisions while enduring a depressive episode for obvious reasons. I settle for designing Rube Goldberg suicide machines, then never building them. I know, I do depression wrong. Despite my head resting uncomfortably on my shoulder for support, I’m having a relatively good time. I’m almost positive I got the smart-ass gene from both donor parents. (I don’t think geneticists are actually searching for it, but I think it’s important to isolate if we’re going to go with designer babies, so if that’s your field, please get on that. There can never be too many comedians, or those who appreciate them.)
I can sense I need to force myself to get up and eat soon or suffer the consequences. This is where my “Just Do It” poster comes in handy. I wrote “Anyway” on a post-it note and stuck it to the poster. It needed a little more oomph. The Depression Monster also has tiny hands. I’m off to eat, then read.