WillSpirit!

My last several posts, in addition to some communications with other bloggers, talked about depression. Actually, they mainly discussed anti depression, but that prompted the rationale for today’s installment: you can’t consider how to cure an illness (if it is one, vide infra) without knowing a little about it. So, ‘what is depression, anyway?’

The word gets tossed about much more often than it gets defined. Here is the MedLinePlus medical dictionary definition:

(1) : a state of feeling sad (2) : a psychoneurotic or psychotic disorder marked especially by sadness, inactivity, difficulty with thinking and concentration, a significant increase or decrease in appetite and time spent sleeping, feelings of dejection and hopelessness, and sometimes suicidal thoughts or an attempt to commit suicide

Definition (1) is straightforward: feeling sad. Number (2) starts with feelings: sadness, plus dejection and hopelessness. In addition, it then captures both thought dysfunction and the ‘vegetative signs’ of depression. The former includes impaired thinking and concentration; the latter encompasses inactivity, appetite changes, and disordered sleep. The final component is suicidality, either in thought or action.

So to simplify we have: sad feelings, impaired thinking, changes in bodily functions, and suicide. Does that sound like depression to you?

Everything listed can be true for me to varying degrees at different times. What it fails to mention, though other dictionaries probably would, is ‘anhedonia’ or loss of ability to experience pleasure. Inability to enjoy anything often constitutes the crux of depression for me. If I could experience pleasure, life would not look so hopeless. Maybe I would then be motivated to eat, sleep, and think properly. Life is meant to be enjoyed, after all.

Or is it? That is the huge depressing lie that our culture has bought into: that the purpose of life is enjoyment. I disagree. I think the purpose (if there is one) is to experience what life brings, whether good or bad. If we also enjoy it, or if we learn from it, so much the better.

I grew up in a well-to-do household with many financial advantages. I attended good schools, went to a fancy summer camp, and lived in a house with a panoramic ocean view. The neighborhood had lovely landscaping, access to mountain trails, and a kid could bicycle to the beach in twenty minutes. Now, I am not at all suggesting it was a happy childhood. For those interested, here is an incomplete list of the traumas I experienced:

• Constant parental discord starting with my earliest memories.
• Prolonged and isolated hospitalization at age three.
• Parental divorce at age four.
• Annual moves for the next six years.
• My mother suffered from clinical depression, with numerous hospitalizations and shock treatments.
• She killed herself when I was six.
• My father’s new wife (his former mistress during the marriage) abused me with breathtaking sadism.
• My father tended to be narcissistic, suffered from alcoholism, and disliked children.
• My sister became entrapped in the drug culture, and suffered LSD-induced psychosis when I was ten.
• My stepmother started inflicting sexual humiliation and abuse when I was eleven, continuing about four years.
• I became involved in drugs and alcohol at age twelve (daily use by age fourteen).

But although my my childhood left a lot to be desired, the surroundings were pleasant and prosperous. My high school had its share of celebrity children, and the prevalent attitude was that life ‘should‘ be happy and fun. Money worries ‘should not’ exist. Everyone ‘should’ be gorgeous and sexy. This all was going on pretty close to Hollywood, and many of the kids I went to school with grew up to continue the tradition of exporting these standards to the entire world.

How realistic are these expectations? Not long ago I attended a support group where one African-American attender came from a different environment. Crack sales on the corner, imprisoned or dead fathers, drive-by shootings, endemic destitution, and pervasive squalor. He had trouble understanding the concept of depression. When he first received the diagnosis, apparently, he told his psychiatrist that his feelings of despondency and hopelessness were normal. That would be the natural conclusion for someone growing up in such a habitat, wouldn’t it? How many of his classmates expected to some day meet a stunning spouse from a well-to-do and intact family, have a couple of genius kids, work a fascinating and lucrative job, and live to an advanced age surrounded by loving children and grandchildren? White middle to upper-middle class people do not think such dreams to be wildly unrealistic. Improbable, of course, but not out of the question. In the American ghettoes, however, to fantasize like that would practically seem psychotic to your companions.

Maybe we ought to look again at what life typically brings. A huge proportion of marriages end in divorce. Financial security is a fading dream. Death is inevitable and illness almost so. The chemical byproducts of industrialization degrade the planet, spawning a very real threat of ecological collapse. People move all the time, making stable communities a historical memory. War never ends. We’re no longer surprised by genocide and terrorism. And meeting people who grew up in truly loving and healthy families happens almost as rarely as discovering four-leafed clovers.

Does this sound like a world where we might expect to be happy? You could even ask, of course, if human existence has ever been conducive to widespread joy and contentment. So maybe sad feelings, dejection, and hopelessness are not pathological. I realize this is a ‘depressing’ viewpoint. But before we start drugging ourselves because we feel ‘sad’, we might ask if it is really a sickness, or maybe just a normal human reaction. Especially for sensitive people with concern for others, like most of us who get diagnosed with depression.

I am not suggesting we just live in misery. I will continue to fight my depression until my last breath. But it helps to know the true enemy. Is it really my brain, the way the mental health system teaches? Do I need to conclude I am a ‘sick’ person because the combination of a horrible upbringing and living in a discouraging world has left me susceptible to ‘sad’ feelings? Maybe those of us who feel the pain of this life are actually the sane ones. Could it be that happy people are just in denial?

OK, that last statement probably takes the point too far. Still, I do believe that sadness must be considered a pretty natural reaction. Any discussion of depression treatment would do well to start from that realization. Then we can proceed to identify endless despair and lack of pleasure as on over-reaction, but perhaps not an entirely pathological one. So when we look at what we should do, we will know that what we are fighting is, in part, the state of the world. Then the problem becomes, how can we find tranquility in the face of all the problems?

Starting from that position, using a psychiatric ‘medication’ looks like a band-aid. We can suck cocaine into our noses and feel better. But is that the best way to deal with life on this planet? Psychiatrists and drug companies, if they bothered to read this, would go bananas at the comparison. Psychiatric pharmaceuticals have long half lives. Their benefit is sustained. They don’t lead to life-destroying behavior. They don’t cost a ridiculous amount of money ( lol ). So I’ll grant, there is a quantitative difference in the side effects and problem profile. But there is not really a qualitative difference in philosophy. Whether you buy the drug in a pharmacy or on the sidewalk out front, you are still treating life’s pain with chemicals.

Personally, I think that is not the best approach. Better to learn tools to cope with the tragedy and hardship than to drug yourself until you no longer care about it. And it is possible to retrain yourself to find peace and satisfaction in life in the face of its heartache and struggle. However, you will probably still feel sad. Part of the reason I became so miserable was my belief that things ‘should’ be better. I saw relatives with truly happy families, and I thought that ‘should’ have been me. I saw classmates with gorgeous dates, and felt I deserved the same. I resented that my colleagues continued in their careers, while mine ended with me in chronic pain, saddled with a badly damaged neck and a threatened spinal cord. My resistance to making peace with my fate, not the misfortune itself, made me miserable. Now that I can accept my hardships as not being all that unusual, and certainly not ‘unfair’, I can just be sad, without abandoning all hope for joy. It is OK to be sad. It is natural, maybe even healthy. My goal is to learn to experience the sadness, but also allow myself to bask in contentment from time to time.

I believe that ‘sadness’ is not the problem, despite how the definition of depression emphasizes it. Anhedonia is the real enemy. The inability to enjoy anything because of sorrow is a confusion about how feelings work. You can be sad a lot, but still find things to enjoy. But to get to this point I have had to abandon the unrealistic expectations fed to me by our modern culture. What a lie to believe one ‘should’ get through life without being seared to the bone by tragedy and suffering! The fact is, every human frame will sometimes feel the flames of hell. But in our hearts we can look around, see the autumn trees outside the hospice window, and smile despite the pain.

Not long ago I posted a ‘Tweet’: The surest path to satisfaction is to lower your standards. What surprises me is that I now actually accept that to be true.

In closing, I would like to point people toward Acceptance and Commitment Therapy. It is not a therapy so much as a philosophy of recognizing the truth, and even the beauty, of pain. You don’t need a therapist to ‘get it’ (try this book–and I’m not getting a kickback from Amazon). ACT is not all that different from Buddhism, actually. But it is a good path for westerners who need to escape our society’s crazy message that only the beautiful, sexy, and rich are living life properly. Or that life is supposed to look like a TV commercial, while grief and defeat and illness and hurt are for losers. In the end, every one of us loses everything we love. What could be sadder? The trick has been to allow sorrow to rain on my parade, and just keep marching and pounding that drum.

Note: the author of Health and Life directs me to this article which expands on the topic of antidepressant (in)efficacy. It also cites the STAR*D study, which made a mammoth attempt to assess and compare treatments. The short form of their result is that drugs, and even accepted therapies, don’t work all that well. But such a short wrap-up does the project a disservice, since it studied issues that always get ignored by drug companies. Some day I may devote an essay to it.

(I modified this post in several places on 2009 August 4, c. 13:45 PDT. I did not introduce any substantive changes in the message or opinion.)