Mental Illness, revisited

This isn't fun either. Feel free to skip it.



Three weeks ago, I wrote a post called "Mental Illness." In it, I discussed my depression and how I could feel its approach again.

It did approach. Slowly, day after day, it's become harder to do simple things like get out of bed, put on my shoes, get out the door, do homework.  Even nonsense like scheduling these things takes more effort.

Last night, I didn't set my alarm. I should have, I knew to, all I had to do was reach over and push a button. I didn't.

I woke up at 7:30 anyway, partially because I've worked hard to build in that sleep pattern and partially because I had awful dreams that I only half remember.

I got out of bed, more slowly than usual, and I did my usual morning routine: took a piss, put on the "Final Countdown," and did a quick morning workout.

Usually, I sprint through these workouts. During the five minutes of the final countdown, I can get through about 8 segments. Pull ups, push ups, sit ups, and squats.  Each one for only about 30 seconds, one immediately after the other.  It doesn't sound like much, but try doing as many pull ups as you can in 30 seconds. Your arms will give out before the time does, unless you can do 30 pull ups, in which case you're just insanely impressive.

Regardless, 8 segments in five minutes.  This morning, I got through 4 segments in six minutes. "Don't Stop Believing" was playing as I dropped down from my chin up bar for the second time. I hadn't even done squats.

I took a shower. Usually, I'm done with the shower around the same time my playlist is finishing up "I Want It All." Today,  the playlist finished and I hadn't even put shampoo in my hair. I was just standing in the shower.

After the shower, I sat on the edge of my bed, dried off, and instead of getting dressed and heading out, I hid under my covers. Then, cursing my weakness, I decided to get out of bed. Which I did. By rolling onto the floor and just laying there.

Just fucking laying there.  Not thinking deep thoughts, not reflecting on the mystery of the universe, just lying on the ground and being sad. Actually feeling sad. Not for any discernible reason, but just because.  And I lay on the floor for an hour.

Eventually, I got up. I got dressed. I walked downstairs, and I grabbed, I shit you not, a giant thing of goldfish.  I've been pouring them into my mouth as I write this.  Nevermind there's a fully stocked kitchen literally on the other side of the wall from me.  Never mind one of my roommates walking in and making breakfast, he just sees me typing and thinks I'm working on something. "How you doing today Jack?" "Pretty shitty" "That sucks"

I had a class that started at 9:40. Did I mention that it's 10:18 right now? Did I mention that I skipped it twice last week? Or that I have a paper due in it Thursday? That I haven't fucking started?  I knew about the paper before it was even assigned: I've put the entire syllabus onto my calendar. I had time scheduled away for having it done already. And yet I haven't even started the damn thing.

How is it that on Saturday I'm able to play rugby for hours straight with a gash on my face, my right foot smashed, and just generally exhausted nonstop in the cold, while today it felt ten times more difficult just getting out of bed?

How lame is it that I, a healthy, wealthy, 20 year old, decently intelligent college kid feel sad and shitty when my life is all sorts of awesome?

And how fucking pathetic is it that this is just due to a chemical imbalance in my brain, something that as a neuroscience student I know way too much about, and yet I'm afraid to go to a psychiatrist. Afraid that my fears will actually be confirmed, afraid that I'll be told that my mind is broken, that there is medication I should be taking.  Medication which has well documented and irritating side effects, that friends who have taken it have told me how fucked up it made them feel.

I'm better than this. I'm stronger than this. So fuck this mental state. I'm going to do my goddamn work. And I'm going to go to my goddamn class and take goddamn good notes, get my fucking homework done, go to rugby practice, and do the same damn thing tomorrow and the next day. And I'm going to like it.