Tag Archives: Depression


I’m not quite myself right now, by the Bloggess.

I won’t say that this is the way I feel, especially since I don’t have depression. Not really. I know that I am on anti-depressants, but a depression is not what I have. Just depressive symptoms that eventually led to me being diagnosed with autism. And those symptoms seem to have cleared away. Or maybe they’ve been subsumed into the diagnosis. I don’t know. I don’t think that having a low self-esteem is part of autism. I mean, being on the spectrum can lead to it, because you’re wondering why you’re different from the people around you, and it can be tiring to feel you’re always lying crosswise across the world. Sure, you’re all humans, and you can understand the people around you, but you’re different in a way that goes beyond ‘All people are different from each other’, and that knowledge, when you don’t know what the underlying cause is, or even whether there is an underlying cause, can lead you to wonder if you’re normal.

I posed that to my therapist the other day, whether the autism makes me ‘crazy’. She wanted to know what I considered ‘normal’. I don’t think I’ve got an answer to that. And it’s not that I consider myself crazy in any way. At least, the autism doesn’t make me crazy. It makes me neuroatypical, but then again, so did the depression. It’s not a big change, really.

Abnormal, yeah, since most people aren’t on the spectrum, and as such ‘Not being on the spectrum’ is ‘normal’, making me ‘abnormal’, in that I deviate from the norm. Not broken or anything, just deviating from the norm. And that’s all right. I’ll use my weirdness for things like being able to quote from Discworld-books, and shouting at films when I think they’re being stupid. Sounds much more productive.


Ways in which I am weird

When ‘weird’ is defined by ‘not adhering to what most people would consider normal’. Then again, who said that they knew what normal is? And it does turn into ‘list of idiosyncrasies’ later on, which is not quite the same, I guess.  Continue reading Ways in which I am weird

I knew I had forgotten something


Furiously Happy: A Funny Book about Horrible Things by Jenny Lawson.

Which is more or less exactly what it says on the tin, the funniest book I’ve read this year (and I am so grateful to Richard for recommending it to me), and it also managed to make me all mushy inside.

Seriously, if you want to know what it’s like to have depression, then this is a good place to start.

Also, check out her blog. It’s hilarious.

When I mentioned to Bee that this book made me happy (a mix of the convo we had on Skype and later on the phone):

Bee: how unexpected …
Me: Anyway, the book made me laugh out loud, and then made me hold in laughter because I was in the train Quiet-zone where you’re not allowed to talk.
Bee: tut
Me: At least I was aware enough of my surroundings to notice. That has to count for something!
Me: Yeah fine, that and a euro will buy me an icecream.
Me: But what did you mean by how unexpected?
Bee: That it doesn’t surprise me that you like a book about living with depression.
Me: You’ve got a point there.


I had my first shift as a volunteer at the local animal-shelter today. It consisted of a lot of cleaning, and feeding the cats. The shelter also houses dogs, but because a) I don’t have any experience with them outside of ‘That’s a dog all right,’ and b) the meds I’m taking have a sticker that advice me to be careful when operating heavy machinery, it’s not a good idea for me to work with them. The thing about the meds is that the dogs might see it as a weakness on my part and take advantage of that. Given that there’s some that are bigger than I am, this is not a good thing to have happen.

This – the volunteering – is because part of why I went into therapy, apart from the depression, is that I don’t really know How To Do People. As in, how do I talk to people I don’t know? My therapist suggested getting into volunteer-work, because that way you get to meet and talk with people, without having to worry too much about the impression you make. You still want to come across as someone who can be left with the cats and not set the shelter on fire, of course, but there’s less pressure, I’d guess you’d could call it, of trying to become friends.

I know it sounds odd, to worry about How To Do People, given that I can talk just right with people I do know. It’s the getting to know them that’s the sticking-point.

So, I am depressed

The diagnosis has been established this time last year, but it took a long time before I got any kind of treatment. Waiting-lists and all that. To be more accurate, I score high on symptoms from the depressive spectrum. I don’t know why the change. Maybe because of the DSM-V? I can’t say that I care all that much. It’s something to be getting on with, and that’s the main point.

I went into the doctor’s office with this complaint, this suspicion that the depression had come back, or resurfaced from 9 years ago, in August 2014. A while ago, I agree. I don’t like that it’s taken this long either. I get that there’s waiting-lists, but I don’t have to like it. It feels almost disrespectful of those who need help.

I went in in August, but I didn’t get tested until January 2015. In the meantime, while I was waiting for that to happen, I did see someone at the GP’s office. Sort of like a liaison-officer, for want of a better term, between the GP and the mental health-professionals.

Anyway, I got the diagnosis, and then I had to wait again. I had been placed on a waiting-list for treatment, and I got called for another intake in September, I think. I didn’t get my anti-depressants, which I am on because I need them to stop the negative thoughts that are part and parcel of a depression, until December 2015. Therapy started this past January.

I spent more than a year to get this far. *sighs* I don’t like that anymore than other people would, and I can’t say in all honesty that the wait was worth it. I mean, the meds work, and so does the therapy, but still, it’s not something that I would care to repeat anytime soon.

Annnd, I am stalling. Circumventing the issue. It’s not the waiting that I wanted to talk about, even though it’s been an annoyance. It’s more why I waited this long to tell other people. In short, it’s because I’ve been ashamed. As I said, I’ve dealt with depression about 10 years ago. I don’t remember much about that time. I don’t have many records of it either.

It feels…odd, and as something that I shouldn’t be having to deal with again, that I am depressed (still, again. I don’t know that I can say that I was healed back then. Dealt with it, maybe, but not over it the way you can get over a broken bone.)

Ashamed that I am not neurotypical, and right now can’t say that I ever will be. It’s not that I am afraid of being dependant on the meds, because if my fears are right and this is a chronic thing, it would be the same as having to take meds to handle one’s diabetes.

Just ashamed that I have this, really. I know that this is not the end-all be-all of who and what I am. I am more than just this depressive state, this illness, this disorder. That doesn’t make it any easier to deal with,  not right now.

But I can’t hide this either. It’s not something that I can deal with alone. True, this is what the depression would like, to keep you alone and away from other people. Because it doesn’t want you to get better. It just wants you to suffer. Because it’s a jerk.