I am “outing” myself: I have suffered from depression since childhood, even though I did not know what to call my persistent, cyclical blues until 1993. When I turned 40, the depression started worsening — in another era it would be called a mid-life crisis or nervous breakdown.
In a series of meltdowns, I lost jobs and burned through life savings and a home. I layered on multiple coats of guilt and shame on top of what was happening to me. The condition made me incapable of writing and critical thinking. For someone who lived off writing and whose very self-definition was based on being a writer, it was a bitter realization. In 1996, my psychiatrist told me that he could not promise that I would ever write professionally again — time to look for another career.
If it weren’t for my family, I would have been destitute. I lived in my parent’s basement for 16 months. My kids stopped their university studies so that they could contribute to supporting the household. [Thanks, Stephanie]
A case of refractory depression is a very humbling experience — you can only focus on now. You look back on all the decisions and failures driven by your illness, the disappointments and the pain, the suffering to your loved ones. You have to release all that because there is nothing you can do now to change that. The future becomes something distant, and impossible to plan because you cannot guarantee that you can perform. You are stripped down to now, the present. You just have to take one day at a time and try to build on it. It also makes you very selfish because you have your hands full resolving your own problems, and can’t take on other people’s problems. Continue reading