Back, but not in business
I've been absent from the great blogosphere for ages now. Well, not really; I've been keeping up my Norwegian blog, but that's more serious and private and I've just linked it to my Facebook account so people who actually know me in real life can stay up-to-date if they want to. My darling LiveJournal blog, on the other hand, which has been my outlet for nearly ten years, has been shamefully neglected over the past months. Year, perhaps. Anyway, I've decided to do my level best to become an active blogger once more.
However, there's about to be a big change around here. I am determined to be brutally honest with my LiveJournal hereafter, because there's been a bit of a change in my life and I want to use this blog as an outlet. I think it'll be good for me. Or, you know, annoying to people who may or may not read it. But regardless, it is time for a full dose of honesty. This blog will act as my very personal journal as I deal, in my own way, with my newly diagnosed depression.
My doctor thinks it's a light depression, and I couldn't agree more. I am extremely high-functioning; I get good grades and I like my work, I'm part of all sorts of social activities and I have a large circle of friends. The problem is, despite how perfect my life is, I'm just not happy. For the past year or so I've worked myself into the ground in an attempt to ignore how miserable I feel, resulting in straight A's from my term in Dublin, extra responsibilities at work, volunteer work for my band and a host of other little projects which all work towards rendering me exhausted and stressed out. Which is, I suppose, better than the alternative: me sitting in a corner with a hot bottle, crying my eyes out without knowing why.
And it's made me think that perhaps this is symptomatic of our modern society: everybody's life improves year by year, but our mental state deteriorates quickly. We're unhappy, angry, anxious... Do I even know anyone who's happy anymore? I used to think I was, back in the day. When I was twenty, I was perfectly happy with my life and convinced that I could do anything I liked. Since then, literally nothing has changed, and I still think I can do whatever I want with my life, and I'm apparently little miss Perfect in every respect, but still I'm not happy. In fact, I am very unhappy. I cry all the time. I feel lonely no matter how many close friends assure me they're there for me if I need it. When I wake up in the morning, my first thought is, "What's the point? I might as well hibernate for a year or two."
It's not that I've lost the ability to laugh and enjoy myself. It's just that there's this deep-seated, underlying feeling of being sad and miserable which never abates, never goes away. Even when I'm having fun, it just takes a stray thought to bring the sadness right back. I don't like it, and I don't want to stay like this. So I spoke to my doctor and he referred me to a psychologist.
He said I seem like a reasonable person and that he doesn't see why I shouldn't benefit greatly from some "conversational therapy". I don't know if there's a technical term for this in English. This is very encouraging, seeing as I don't really want a diagnosis, and I really don't want the zombie pills that were the second option. I've heard people talk about their experiences with antidepressants and it sounds a lot worse than my teensy little depression. What I've got isn't even very serious; it doesn't keep me from studying and working and doing everything I want to, it just keeps me from being happy. Which, let's face it, isn't a big deal. There are people starving in Africa and I bitch about not being happy in my perfect little life? Disgusting.
That's another aspect of the whole mental illness thing, I guess. I don't feel ill at all, which kind of makes it a bit of a guilt trip to hog all the health care resources that will be put into my being talked through a light depression. Wouldn't everybody be better off if I just pulled myself together and let the really distressed people have my spot in the psychologist's waiting room? I almost feel like a leech. But then again, if I'm happy and stable and strong and resourceful, I can be there for others who need someone to lean on. And I have a lot of friends who need someone all the time. If I were happy, I could help them to be happy. Perhaps.
Anyway. TL; DR. Rambling entry is rambling. So I'll let this be the kick-off mark; I feel like using LJ for what it started out as again: a personal, digital diary. Only with the option of feedback. I like it better that way.
However, there's about to be a big change around here. I am determined to be brutally honest with my LiveJournal hereafter, because there's been a bit of a change in my life and I want to use this blog as an outlet. I think it'll be good for me. Or, you know, annoying to people who may or may not read it. But regardless, it is time for a full dose of honesty. This blog will act as my very personal journal as I deal, in my own way, with my newly diagnosed depression.
My doctor thinks it's a light depression, and I couldn't agree more. I am extremely high-functioning; I get good grades and I like my work, I'm part of all sorts of social activities and I have a large circle of friends. The problem is, despite how perfect my life is, I'm just not happy. For the past year or so I've worked myself into the ground in an attempt to ignore how miserable I feel, resulting in straight A's from my term in Dublin, extra responsibilities at work, volunteer work for my band and a host of other little projects which all work towards rendering me exhausted and stressed out. Which is, I suppose, better than the alternative: me sitting in a corner with a hot bottle, crying my eyes out without knowing why.
And it's made me think that perhaps this is symptomatic of our modern society: everybody's life improves year by year, but our mental state deteriorates quickly. We're unhappy, angry, anxious... Do I even know anyone who's happy anymore? I used to think I was, back in the day. When I was twenty, I was perfectly happy with my life and convinced that I could do anything I liked. Since then, literally nothing has changed, and I still think I can do whatever I want with my life, and I'm apparently little miss Perfect in every respect, but still I'm not happy. In fact, I am very unhappy. I cry all the time. I feel lonely no matter how many close friends assure me they're there for me if I need it. When I wake up in the morning, my first thought is, "What's the point? I might as well hibernate for a year or two."
It's not that I've lost the ability to laugh and enjoy myself. It's just that there's this deep-seated, underlying feeling of being sad and miserable which never abates, never goes away. Even when I'm having fun, it just takes a stray thought to bring the sadness right back. I don't like it, and I don't want to stay like this. So I spoke to my doctor and he referred me to a psychologist.
He said I seem like a reasonable person and that he doesn't see why I shouldn't benefit greatly from some "conversational therapy". I don't know if there's a technical term for this in English. This is very encouraging, seeing as I don't really want a diagnosis, and I really don't want the zombie pills that were the second option. I've heard people talk about their experiences with antidepressants and it sounds a lot worse than my teensy little depression. What I've got isn't even very serious; it doesn't keep me from studying and working and doing everything I want to, it just keeps me from being happy. Which, let's face it, isn't a big deal. There are people starving in Africa and I bitch about not being happy in my perfect little life? Disgusting.
That's another aspect of the whole mental illness thing, I guess. I don't feel ill at all, which kind of makes it a bit of a guilt trip to hog all the health care resources that will be put into my being talked through a light depression. Wouldn't everybody be better off if I just pulled myself together and let the really distressed people have my spot in the psychologist's waiting room? I almost feel like a leech. But then again, if I'm happy and stable and strong and resourceful, I can be there for others who need someone to lean on. And I have a lot of friends who need someone all the time. If I were happy, I could help them to be happy. Perhaps.
Anyway. TL; DR. Rambling entry is rambling. So I'll let this be the kick-off mark; I feel like using LJ for what it started out as again: a personal, digital diary. Only with the option of feedback. I like it better that way.