I rode a borrowed bicycle to treatment today. I felt like I was living a live version of the ‘80s video game Paperboy. I had potholes and dogs to avoid. I caught my handlebars on a gate that I thought I was narrowly missing but was going slowly enough that I didn’t go splat. I caught my coat in the spokes and came to a sudden stop. In short, I was my normal uncoordinated self, and it was kind of fun.
When I got to treatment, Dr. Li had me wipe the sweat off my head before he placed the device. It was kind of embarrassing, but he saw my bicycle helmet and knew why I was sweaty. As an aside, there are no helmet laws in South Carolina (bicycle or motorcycle), and I’m surprised at how many people choose to not protect their heads.
Treatment was treatment. No headaches or more than mild discomfort. The vibration of the device causes my teeth to chatter and my left eye to twitch (just rapid movement with the vibration, not any kind of spasm), which gets annoying but doesn’t hurt.
I rode my bicycle back to the apartment and immediately commenced napping. The amount of sleep I get is directly proportionate to how bad I’m feeling. The more I sleep, the worse I feel. As I’ve mentioned before, I sleep mostly to feel like I’ve escaped life for a while.
During bouts of depression (which typically last months), my first thought upon waking in the morning is “Ugh, I’m still here.” I put off getting out of bed until I absolutely must. Fortunately, I have a huge sense of responsibility and sense of guilt when I’ve fallen short, so I usually am able to make my obligations. My very worst days are those that get neglected altogether and are spent in bed. I wake up long enough to eat something sweet, knowing that the sugar crash will soon put me back to sleep. I can literally spend days in bed if there is no one around to see it.
Assuming I make it out the door, I have an amazing talent at hiding my depression. People that I’ve worked with or even lived with have had no idea of my struggles. They have no idea that, as I laugh at their water cooler banter, I’m repeating what has become my mantra in my head: I wish I was dead. A simple sentence, but one which I repeat dozens of times per day. At this point, my sense of responsibility and guilt keep me from killing myself, but it doesn’t keep me from my passive hope for death.
It’s not that I never have moments of happiness. It truly brings me joy to be held by my boyfriend or licked by my dog. I love having family visit as much as I love seeing them go home. J The defining characteristic of depression for me is that the happy feelings are always fleeting, and the sadness always lingers.
I’m not very close to many people. It’s harder to keep my secrets, to hide my sleeping, to contain my anger with people who are around too much. Friends and family have expressed a willingness to help, but what is anyone supposed to say or do when someone they care about is talking about wanting to die? My boyfriend wants to bring me enough joy that it takes the depression away, but it’s not something that anyone can fix. When the depression cloud is around, no amount of love or money or anything else can bring me mental sunshine.
With each tap of the rTMS device, I pretend it’s breaking up my depression clouds. I hope it really is. So far, I’m still in dark places, but I remind myself that I’m only on day four.
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