The messy, squishy bits

Nights like these remind me of what my last counselor said about depression: it’s biological — passed down genetically (I’ve lost count of just how many in my immediate and extended family have it). But, it also has a sociological component (how our society treats depression in individuals), a psychological component (how we treat ourselves), an environmental component (external events, circumstances, individuals that trigger our illness).

We focus on external triggers a lot in our everyday interactions — “what’s got you in such a mood?” But, in the end, there are varying degrees of each factor in each individual. Some of us spend a lot of time trying to find the approximate ratios of each, so that we might understand ourselves better, control ourselves better, live our lives better, hurt ourselves (and others) just a bit less.

I felt the pull of my own illness when I was a young teenager — biologically, there was sleeplessness and food issues. Psychologically, there was shame over the inability to control my own body. In terms of my environment, there was parental infidelity, exploitation, repression, pressure to act as a caregiver to others with more pronounced (or exaggerated) forms of depression or disability, garden variety stress.

I’m thirty years old now. My environment has been compromised many times since then (parental infidelity gave way to marital infidelity, emotional abuse, gas lighting behavior) and the decks have been cleared many times since then. Today, I have the geographic distance from the girl I was as well as the distance of time. I have work that I love in a city that I love. I’m surrounded by friends and loved ones many times per week — a wealth of positive energy that doesn’t judge me, doesn’t criticize, isn’t interested in controlling me or taking anything from me. And, while it’s helpful, it makes days like today (when simple biology takes over and plunges me into darkness with only terrible memories of similar days and nights) all the more frustrating.

Self-assessment has never been a problem. I’ve never been afraid to root around in the messy, squishy bits of my life still wet with blood — to slice out my own entrails and read them like tea leaves. I’ve behaved badly, felt bad, had bad people in my life and I have a bad, bad brain. All save one have been scrubbed, all barnacles scraped from the bow. So why can’t I heal the last of it and banish days like this one?


~ by blackmoodcraft on January 27, 2014.

2 Responses to “The messy, squishy bits”

  1. I think you’d like fojap, you seem to have a lot in common with her

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