When you go to visit a lot of psychiatrists and other “helping professions,” people often ask you how your depression/anxiety/whatnot is on a scale of 1-10. This is a horribly inaccurate measure for most people, but it gives you some data points at least, despite:
- one person’s “5” is another person’s “8” and the charts don’t stay with a particular patient through various agencies, so there isn’t a way to measure your progress or not on your own individual scale
- you are asked to rank your depression overall for the past week/day/whatnot, and you automatically privilege how you are feeling at that moment. i regularly have “dips” to being at an 8 or 9 but they only last for an hour or so, and then fade.
- you never ever want to say “10” or “1” because these seem like the end of the game.
The goal is for your score to go down as you get better. Not that anyone thinks you will ever get to a 1, but to hover around a 2 or 3 at least means that you are not a danger to yourself and that life seems bearable.
I’ve been at about a 7 or 8 this week. Well, for quite a few weeks. My goal is to hover at around a 6, which would translate to at least “I have some hope that I won’t feel this way forever.”
Death isn’t a cure for depression. But it is a cure for a life lived in this much pain.
I’m just searching for another cure. Trying out the various things that the doctors give me. Trying to hold on.
When I was just at the tail end of and getting out of college, up through the beginning of graduate school, I had a very serious girlfriend. We shacked up. We codepended. We were both pretty depressed – her more than me at that stage in my life. She self medicated mostly with pot and I self “medicated” with an eating disorder and cutting. It was overall not a good scene, even though there was a lot of love and care and mutual understanding. What there wasn’t a lot of, at least towards the end, was sex. Maybe this is true of all relationships, maybe just of lesbian relationships, maybe just of finally getting your shit together and getting on the right medication that kills your sex drive, maybe some combination of all of the above. For my time in grad school, she would still call me up every so often and tell me that I was the only one who ever really knew how to take care of her, who accepted her the way that she was (and ask me sometime to tell you about her new husband who is a staunch republican, totally anti-gay, and has borderline personality disorder). I did love and accept her, and she did me, and we never needed to say “I don’t know why there is no reason I’ve been crying all day this is just my life.”
For a long time after that relationship ended, I thought that what killed our sex life was the fact that I took such good care of her — that I became a pseudo-parent figure to her. I vowed that in my next few relationships, I wouldn’t let my partner take care of me. I would rely on friends, on chosen family, on anybody but the person who I wanted to also fuck my brains out to pick me up form the psych ward. Never the twain shall meet.
Unfortunately, and fortunately, my current primary partner doesn’t have a serious history with mental illness and will always ask what happened when he sees me crying.In some ways, it is a nice change. In others, I want to shield him from what happens in my head because I don’t want him to take care of me and because I don’t want to let him in.
My psychiatrist asked me today if I was still looking for teaching jobs. I answered “yes” reflexively and then followed up with “well, i’m trying to get through this conversation without crying, and then i’m going to try to get through the rest of the day without crying too much. My goal for the week is to keep doing the things I enjoy even when I am crying and not enjoying them. My stretch goal is to get a nights sleep. I would really like that but it may not be possible.”
The basis of “spoon theory” is that some things most people do without too much fuss or energy (i.e. not crying in public, taking a shower, eating dinner) take some of us a relative lot of energy so that, at the end of the day we have no “spoons” left for our romantic life, our professional advancement, not screaming at our partner’s child because they are whining about something stupid, or just plain keeping our tears in until we get into our apartment. Spoon theory explained a lot to me, and still does. It became a short hand that is readily understood by people – “I don’t have the spoons to cook tonight and I don’t know when I will have them,” is much more honest than “I wanted you to come over for dinner but I forgot to turn on my phone for the past 12 hours to finalize our plans” or “My cat is sick” or any of the other millions of excuses I have used when I planned to have a birthday party and then the day of realized I just *couldn’t* face people.
There are two (related) problems with spoon theory in general and in particular in terms of goal setting.
- using spoons can make you have more spoons – this is when you don’t think you have the social energy or spoons to go visit your friend because you can’t stop crying and think you are a burden to be around, but then you do go see her and she is totally cool and not at all bothered by your tears and the shit-show that is your emotional deregulation and then suddenly you feel like you might have those spoons to take a shower after all.
- not having spoons results in you feeling like you deserve to not have any spoons. you start thinking “i couldn’t make myself shower today, i am so disgusting and stink and can’t ever have the spoons to shower.”
Applying for teaching jobs makes me feel like I might have a future that is valuable and meaningful. Therefore I do it, even when I am also harvesting my spoons trying to make it through the day. I would like to make it through the day a little easier, so I could focus on making my life better in higher order ways, but having hope for the future helps with all of these fronts. I have to shower and swim and talk to a friend *in order to* gain spoons to write this cover letter.
And blog. So thank you. Coming soon= hospitalization, friends, and permanence. Mental illness and loving commitment. Sex gender and depression.