Today I found myself feeling almost exactly like I remember feeling earlier this decade when I was going to college for the first time. I went to the University of Washington. I got a physics degree. I hated every minute of it. I don’t think the classes were too hard in principle– it was that I felt incredibly stupid, incredibly alone, and totally unable to apply myself fully. And I thought after I graduated and grew up a bit, that things had gotten so much better. Yet even so, I find myself at that same sad point now: the end of the quarter, looking at the mess I’ve made of things and asking, “What the hell did I do wrong?”
When I talk to my friends about how dumb/disappointed I feel, a lot of them say things like “you’re being too hard on yourself”. This is so strange to me– especially because I am privy to the original data of how truly, truly hard I used to be on myself. Right now I feel like I’m just setting reasonable goals, and then failing them, without expecting it to happen. That’s not being hard on myself– that’s just a crappy life experience that makes me doubt my ability to plan and succeed at the things I want to do.
One of the very dark places I went this autumn had to do with humility. I learned to talk about things that were horribly embarrassing (granted, probably only embarassing to me). I learned to be more vulnerable. I learned to be vulnerable to people who had absolutely no idea how vulnerable I was being. I started off the quarter feeling like I was learning something about failing with grace– that I didn’t have to be perfect, that I shouldn’t expect perfection in the first place, that it’s possible to deal with the ill opinions of others and just do my own thing…
And yet here I am at the end of the quarter, failing, and feeling horribly ungraceful. My self-image itself seems to be degrading in ways I have never felt before. Some part of my brain feels like I have spent so many years failing that I should just accept that I am a failure and be done with trying, and move on to easier things. Ironically, I have enough practice now to recognize that these thoughts are typical of how I think when I am depressed and anxious, and so I’m not sure if I can use them to make decisions.
Even though end of this quarter has left me feeling truly, fundamentally more stupid, and less capable in my ability to maneuver through life with grace, I suppose I am still better off. I see the “character building” benefits of failure, but I just wish… that I didn’t.. experience so much of it. For the crap I have put myself through these past months, I’d better have a fucking stellar character that provides me with some real benefits in exchange for my misery.
And I can talk and talk to myself, and try to sort it out in language, and end things on a happy note about a silver lining– but that still doesn’t really soothe the deep feelings of failure. I can only assume they will end up going away, the way feelings do when you can leave them alone for a while.
Lot for sale, 2009
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Man, I feel ya there.
Meanwhile, today’s eerily prescient ReCaptcha wisdom: “Unionize Alcohols”. Team drinking, what an excellent suggestion! Or a terrible idea, especially for those wracked by depression. A little of both, I expect.
Well, instead of drinking, we could channel this into painting perhaps? (”have Acrylics”)
Hey, Dr. Sketchy’s is coming up! More of all of these things!
That’s what I keep telling myself. Then my internal critic deadpans, “Yeah, how’s that working out for ya?” Gawd, I hate the critic. Stab-stab-stabbety stab.
Are you going to the *cough* book-reading a week earlier, same location?
“Ironically, I have enough practice now to recognize that these thoughts are typical of how I think when I am depressed and anxious, and so I’m not sure if I can use them to make decisions.”
Be sure. You can’t. Man oh man do you know how long I’ve been searching for someone ELSE who can tell when it’s not “her” talking in her head but depression? I’ve reached rock bottom. More than once. But I haven’t really sunk in almost a decade now, even though the road is narrow and winding.
The solution is very, very easy, and if I could explain it properly I’d be rich and famous. All you need to do is not listen. See, I can’t explain it! It’s just that the internal monologue/dialogue sometimes uses my voice but comes from Depression. The trick (my trick) is to recognize the subtle differences in my internal voice and then–to REFUSE to pay attention. I sort of put myself on hold for any major decision/conversation.
I can accept the fact that I’ll always be a depressive person, but I refuse to be depressed, y’know? I just don’t give any weight to what depression tells me. I’m like yah yah I know you’re there–shut up!
It’s not even you being hard on yourself, sometimes–it’s the disease/imbalance/call it what you will.
Haha, no on that book reading, though it did sound rather wonderful.
Tell the Critic it “doesn’t get to have an opinion on that” (as a wise friend said a few minutes ago).
@Vieux – This is very wise, and such a good practice! For me it helps that my husband is awesome… because sometimes when I’m depressed I’ll start talking to him about it, and hear what I’m saying and realize I’m doing what I call “crazy talk”… where what I’m saying is so negative and just completely down on myself (in the most intense way possible– I can’t even describe it) that I will actually interrupt myself and say “woah, I just realized I’m talking crazy talk. Sorry about that.” (Even the need to apologize for it comes from depression, I know.)
But even to be able to put a halt in these weird snowballing emotions is so valuable! It *is* possible, it’s just that we are not really trained how to do it. Maybe one day we can write a book for peeps on how to kick depression right in the teeth.
I do not think you can “bootstrap” out of depression, but there are definitely palliative coping techniques that people diagnosed with major depression may never learn about unless they find a great therapist or talk to the right person.
I shudder at the thought of writing a “self help” book… haha, maybe we could just write a zine together, called “Kicking Depression in the Fucking Teeth”.
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