A Depression Observed

Happy National Day of Prayer!

One of my favorite writers, Professor C.S. Lewis, penned a book called "A Grief Observed."  I'm not on his level, but I am going through a depressive episode, and I thought I'd piggyback on his title.

This is great!  I'm a little early on the episode (wasn't really looking for it until June), but I knew when I started this blog that one would be coming up this year and that it would be cool to go through it with you.

Well, okay, it's not actually great.  It's not any fun at all, come to think of it.  But it is an interesting experience.  My last dythymic adventure was in November/December of 2014, and lasted sixteen days. They've been showing up pretty regularly every eighteen months or so for the last twenty-something years (and maybe longer), lasting anywhere from eight to nineteen days.  I was in my late twenties before I had it figured out and diagnosed.

This time around I think it had started before I was really aware of it; I've been ill with a virus and I've had some stress in my life from other sources and honestly was a little down and grouchy already (which is not typical of me.)  My big tell-tale sign of clinical depression is always waking up ridiculously early and not being able to go back to sleep.

Other symptoms: Lethargy, pessimism, general irritability, the inability to concentrate, lack of creativity, and an overwhelming reluctance to do anything.  Nothing cheers me up, nothing's any fun, and it's a tremendous effort of will to get myself going.  It's not crippling, or anything like that--it's relatively mild depression as such things go.  I knew a man, poor fellow, who almost literally couldn't get out of bed when depression hit--he just couldn't see the point to anything.

I'm not like that, thankfully.  I can function; it's just exhausting.  I'm still a funny guy, but it's reflexive rather than genuine, and there's an angry edge to the humor that isn't normally there.  And I can work, as long as it doesn't require much in the way of creativity.  My sense of honor, obligation, and duty is intact; in fact it may be the only thing keeping me going.  My sense of compassion has vanished, but I still act as though I had it because I know I'll be ashamed later if  I don't.  What I feel like doing is going home, lying in bed, and staring at the ceiling.

I'll get through it and I'll keep you posted.  This too shall pass.

Hope all's well out there, friends, and God bless.