Ron was watching CNN last night. He watches the news a lot. I don't so much. Right now, I've got the weather channel on. I'm more of a - I'll go into my TV preferences in another post.
Anyway, someone was on antidepressants, "snapped" and shot up a mall, killing several people and himself. Some commentator said "Well, depression is anger turned inward." Ron came out to get my opinion.
Once the flames died down, I explained. I actually did a bit of research before I started this post, and I'm not the only one who's angered by that statement. Before I type anymore, I have to explain something. I have a loving family. They were baffled and infuriated by me at times, saddened by my depressions, and fearful of my next manic phase. They wanted to help. But I never doubted anyone's love for me, from my brother and sister to my dad, mom, and stepmom.
I had delusions at about age 7, and was manifesting clinical depressions by the time I was about age 10. We had just moved cross-country, so it was "understandable". But I settled in, made some freinds, kick the depression for a while only to get whalloped again when I least expected it. I'd droop, I wouldn't eat, I wouldn't bathe. You had to force me to go about the daily living activities.
So my Mom and Dad put me in a support group. It was explained to me that I was depressed, that depression was "anger turned inward" and I had to release the anger inside or else. My mother had neglected and abandoned me, my dad put me in day care, he remarried, and her kids and I went through an adjustment phase. I remember one day, an early mania from about age 8 or so, when I went around doing something "Bad" to every one of them, like putting rocks in their shoes. I reveled in it, then when they asked me why, "I dunno". Manic.
Another time I was overcome with a pure, clear high that made me feel invincible. I was intoxicated. I "acted up" quite a bit that night and I think my parents blamed the sugar. A memorable time was the time I rode recklessly on my bike (remember I'm invincible) at about age 11. I crashed it and ended up in the ER. I have a scar on the underside of my chin.
No one was ready to see it, though. So, I had to learn to express my anger and I wouldn't be depressed. I had so much to be angry about, poor thing. They weren't beating me with rubber hoses, raping, and starving me but that's how the professionals acted when they heard "my history". I'm a lot more than a victim, I'm an overcomer.
I got worse, of course. I got so depressed I'd wander around like a zombie, my eyes blank. My parents got worried, and the doctor said "Let's put her on antidepressants." We went from "Depression is anger turned inward" to "You have a chemical imbalance, Heather."
6 weeks after starting the antidepressants, I "turned myself in" to the school guidance counselor with my bottle of Prozac. I told him, I was going to "do it" today but I prayed about it and God led me to go to him. I ended up in the hospital.
Even though I'd sit in place for hours, frantically crocheting, everything was "fine". I didn't want to kill myself anymore, ergo I was "better". They kept me on the antidepressants and I went pretty wild. See, antidepressants, by themselves, will really hurt a manic-depressive. It makes them uncontrollably manic (which I believe is what happened to the shooter yesterday), with disastrous results. I would cycle a couple times a year. When I got depressed I'd get suicidal again, but I hid that from "the experts", friends and family. Nothing worked, did it? I'd tried. I thought it was all my fault I was sick. I blamed myself for being a sick, weird, weak, freak.
When I was manic, I did and contemplated terrible things. The ones I can share: shoplifting, stealing coffee-kitty money from the school office, stealing books from the library, and "going after" boys. I never did anything, they were gentlemen or uninterested in "my charms" but God, I could have gotten pregnant or diseased! The antidepressants just cranked up the volume knob on my manic behavior. I was happy to get rid of them at age 17, but I got severely depressed a few months later.
It's ironic that when I met my husband, I was cycling from a winter depression into a springtime mania. He thought I was a lot of "fun" - and I wan't the law-breaker I'd been on the antidepressants.
For years I believed medication could do nothing for me, and my depressions (I never acknowledged the manias, even to myself) were just something I'd have to deal with. Sure, I get suicidal a couple times a year. I know, I'm "wierd".
No, I'm bipolar. I tease Ron, and tell him "They've got pills for that". Thank God they do. I would be dead by now otherwise. My husband was willing to put himself in a nursing home to get away from the person I was when manic. He even got himself a caseworker! How tragic.
Now, people always comment on us, the "Happy couple". They love the driver candy, the smiles, and the genuine love we share.
Saying "Depression is anger turned inward" blames the victim. Depression is a chemical imbalance. I'm very proud of the fact that I am a good example for medication. A friend told me recently he's started on an antidepressant. He didn't know he could feel this good, and no side effects! "I thought I was just weak but you showed me otherwise."
You're not weak. You're imbalanced. You don't blame your car when a wheel is out of round, and you shouldn't blame yourself.
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