Lockdown rut, life rut, middle aged rut is real. It is painful to realize ‘If I keep doing what I’m doing I’ll keep getting the same results’. I’ve found it helpful to recognize whist there are a lot of things I can’t do, there are innumerable things I can. This is easily said but when the weight is on sometimes the excuses and other self deluding bullshit can hinder my good intentions. Currently, with small kids, finding motivation has proven somewhat easier but in previous black spots making a list of things to do and actually taking the actions (At least a few of them) has helped move life along (Action & experience it would seem, trump false hope).
Talking things through with close friends or just taking the next appropriate action, rather than ‘thinking’ I can solve my funk with yet more ‘thinking’ (When it is the quality of my thinking that is the issue) has rarely if ever worked. In glib terms regarding thinking, having one foot in yesterday and one in tomorrow tends to mean I piss on the day. At a snails pace I’ve come to see there is only one place I can live and it happens to be today (this moment.) Sadly my daydreaming inner obsessive often ignores this memo and needs frequent reminding.
(Actually it is discipline but I find this to be the most offensive word in the English language)
You’ve explained it far better than I could have, medication is shit, self medication is at least enjoyable
I’ve never been a massive fan of drinking either unless it’s with friends - despite having a few beers tonight because I’ve got tomorrow off. I’d much rather get stoned af - at least I can function and find music , gaming, even work enjoyable then. I seem to have tied listening to music with Fridays and beers, so only listen to records once a week. It’s so easy to get into a habit with something. You’d think after work each day I’d just chill and discover new music etc but nope
To quote someone who is now a rotting corpse in my basement, ‘Cheer up, what have you got to be miserable about?’
He probably wishes he was the ‘Turn your frown upside down’ guy now.
Very similar to my own experiences. I wouldn’t recommend antidepressants to anyone, I been prescribed them all (still got boxes of them) truly awful things nearly as dangerous as psychiatrists. Therapy is a very Miss with the occasional lucky hit treatment. Never a cure but after years of different people and different types of therapy I have found one I trust and can share some things with although she is nearly as fucked up as me. I hate the text book CBT so favoured by the NHS it’s fucking shit. Only enforces my view that there is no real help available for people with serous long term mental health issues, they’d rather section people than really support them. I’ve been using denial all my life and like you say when the blockade breaks the consequences can be devastating.
There is too much emphasis on cause with treatments, I know that there is no real treatment, for me anyway. It is about acceptance and having non judgmental support when something triggers the dog. Episodes triggered by the here and now are usually not too hard to overcome it’s when the original cause takes over my working memory that I really start to struggle, making me just want to disappear from my world. Not an easy thing to do with dependants and responsibilities. Plus I’m still really fucking angry with the person that made me like this. Even though the twats been dead for over 40 years. Supporting other sufferers is a good antidote. Great to read you’re doing ok.
I can’t understand why people expect you to go through a CBT course when you can barely get up in the morning. I have a stressful highly technical job, the last thing I want to do is brain training after work thanks
It’s not about helping the sufferer. It’s about making you acceptable to society. Brain washing by proxy.
This is the truth. Anti-depressants can trigger mania in an unfortunate minority which can be life changing.
The obsession with cause is a real problem in mental health diagnosis in general. In my case, the focus seemed to be on uncovering some long-suppressed trauma in order to provide a convenient peg for the therapy hat.
It took years for me to realise that there was no ‘cause’ - it transpires that depression runs deep in my late father’s lineage. He was born in the thirties (before depression was fashionable), so simply accepted his lot as an existential burden, which he carried with stoicism (along with copious quantities of wine).
My father was a special bloke. He used to joke that he was so unlucky he’d one day die from the 0.1% of germs Domestos doesn’t kill. When he got his Leukemia diagnosis, his first reaction was ‘Fuck you, Domestos!’
He’s been gone nearly 30 years now. Next year, I will be the same age he was when he died. That is a very strange feeling.
I’ve been quite lucky, in that I’ve only had one relatively short period when I was unable to function to the extent that I sought medical help. I remember getting into my car to go to work, then realising that I’d been sitting there with the keys in the ignition for about three hours. Went to see my GP, filled in a bullshit questionnaire, poured my weeping heart out and came away with a prescription for Prozac. It was like a lobotomy in tablet form - the very memory of it still makes me shudder. Total personality bypass. I had nearly six months off work - and a further six months (at least) vacation from being me.
I got carted to a&e by the battleaxe HR lady last year - had a rant, prayed I didn’t get sectioned, same old shit
Got a month off and paid at least I guess
“We care about our employees mental health”
Because you want me back at your desk working properly
I’m not entirely sure what depression is, I know I’ve always been angry and violent, I could have full on punch up fights over the littlest things.
A few years ago I had a car crash and the Dr gave me Citalopram to deal with the “nightmares and flashbacks”
The stuff was a fucking miracle, all of a sudden I mellowed, listened before throwing opinions about and generally calmed down.
I’ve become so much closer to my family and friends that they now ask me for advice (gullible twats)
My best mates daughter has a severe heart defect and has been through around 10x operations, she’s been diagnosed with PTSD but I like to think I’m helping her by talking through this stuff (she calls me an honoury uncle)
My niece is undergoing some form of eye therapy at the moment, for me CBT was shite but I really can’t understand what this new thing is meant to be.
I just lived with my mine for 40 years then had kids which started to trigger dark episodes of withdrawing. The wife was suffering and begged me to get help using her works private health insurance. That needed a process which started with my GP. Did the questionsres and was immediately referred to A psychiatrist at a famous and rediciously expensive hospital in London. Blagged my way past the first psych, was referred to a second who got me to open up, she shat herself and referred me to her mentor. He diagnosed me and proceeded to prescribe Prozac then Zoloft, Paxil, Celexa and some other shit I can’t remember the name of. I eventually developed an Inspector Dreyfus eye twitch and was becoming psychotic. He then referred me to four-different therapists all using different techniques. I eventually got one who is fucking brilliant and she got me away from him and off the pills. She is a maverick and has got people out of psychiatric hospitals using her credentials, not because she thought she could cure them but because she feared for their lives. She is a friend more than a therapist now and is simply a wonderful human being. Although I can still get so low I will avoid her calls. Yet sometimes just thinking about some of the crazy sessions with her make me smile and bring me round.
EMDR.
TL;DR 
Isn’t that the best time to answer the calls, not being corny but a friend doesn’t give a shit about about how bad you are feeling.
That’s the trouble with severe depression and CPtSD. When you’re in it’s grip you’re not looking for or wanting help. It’s like being frozen solid.
Don’t think I can empathise that, or have never been in that position.
All I can offer is, no matter what time or how minimal you think it is give me a call on 07920 770634
I really do find just talking bollocks, or listening to bollocks is very therapeutic, the alehouse is an absolute godsend.
Excellent advice, of course - the irony being that excellent advice is often wasted on people in the grip of depression. Rationality goes out the window.
My experience is that it’s very difficult to be a true friend to someone who is depressed. They won’t listen to your advice, will often show no signs of appreciation and will probably be a general pain in your backside. Expect nothing until they are better, at which point you will become a legend.
I lost a few friends when I was at my worst, some of whom never spoke to me again. I’ve no idea whether it was something I did or said, or if it was all simply too much for them to handle. Tough times.
TBF you do seem to be an utter cunt.