WARNING: This post discusses suicidal ideation a bit.
I’ve come up with a potentially lucrative new career for the right kind of person.
Every seriously depressed person (or anyone going through some sort of struggle with their mental health) should be assigned a Keeper.
Yes, like at an animal sanctuary.
Your Keeper is in charge of making sure you don’t do things during your depressive cycle that will have negative consequences when you eventually feel better. They are your Potential Regret Officer. When assigned to you, they receive a list of things you need someone to keep you from doing. And while yes, suicide prevention would be a perk of the system, I’m talking more about the bad decisions you make over and over when you’re so dick-in-the-dirt depressed you can’t actually see ahead of you.
Severe depressive episodes are an altered state, just like mania, trance possession, or a psychotic break. You may be outwardly functioning but on the inside you are not in your right mind. Obviously if you’re suicidal your Keeper can summon the Big Help, but her job day-to-day is things like keeping you from getting bangs, monitoring your impulse spending, making sure you shower more than once every two weeks, that kind of thing. You tell them your biggest regret issues and they handle them while you’re in the Shit Pit. Are you likely to drink too much, engage in unfortunate shagging, or not eat a vegetable until you haven’t shat in a month? Your Keeper can help.
I’m honestly not sure how many people have depression like I do. Regardless of how well my meds are working, there are times when I just bottom out. It can last a few weeks or months on end. In the midst of it I keep going because I have to; long, long ago I made a vow to the Universe or God or Whomever that I would never actually unalive myself no matter how bad things got, and it’s one of the few vows I’ve managed to keep that long. At this point in my life I don’t really even consider it – I do not want to be dead, I just want it all to stop. I want to shut down, wrap myself in a giant tortilla and spend the rest of my life as a Sadness Burrito. But even then, I maintain an absurd little spark of hope and an even more absurd spark of determination that life can always get better, but only if I’m alive. So I know eventually I’m going to feel more like myself again. Actual happiness in life may never be something I get to have, but even with my brain like it is I can at least feel better.
The main problem with all of this is that when I do finally feel better I realize I’ve done some dumb shit that’s going to make the future way less enjoyable regardless of where my brain is at.
I have not felt well yet this year. I can’t pinpoint when this last cycle started, but it’s been at least since January I’ve been aware of it. I have had a run of days here and there that were better or worse but never good. This week has actually been a “better” week, and every time one happens I wonder hey, is this the beginning of a true upswing? So far it hasn’t been, but see above re: absurd sparks.
During this whole season of Grand Crapitude I have completely lost control of my spending. I managed to make a HUGE good decision and bought a car, cash up front; to do that I had to cash out the 401k from my old job, which I did just in time to not have it wiped out by the Sweaty Orange Ballsack’s pissy toddler behavior. (Between the time I decided to do it and the time I pulled the trigger, it had already dropped in value by several grand.). What was left after the car, however, has been largely frittered away by one unnecessary purchase after another. The largest percentage has been the other major problem: Food.
I have wasted so much money on takeout and delivery this year it’s obscene. Seriously. And the worst part is, I have been eating nothing but junk food, a lot of it nonvegan. That’s right: In times of severe depression I fall off the wagon and into a swimming pool filled with queso. It happens every goddamn time. It’s been going on long enough that I know my weight has skyrocketed. Being fat is not the issue here – weight fluctuations of any kind are symptoms, and so is feeling like ass. My health has declined precipitously since January and I am in constant muscle and joint pain; my knees and back are in dreadful shape which makes it impossible to move around like I need to to feel better.
(I am NOT asking for health advice here, please do not give any. I am describing the situation, not searching for diet tips.)
So yes, I would benefit from mid-depression supervision. I might be the only one, I don’t know. But as long as I am camped out in the Shit Pit making changes is both agonizing and terrifying; misery is what I know and cling to in this place. I’m making tiny bits of progress a day here and a day there, and have resolved not to give in to guilt and self-loathing (any more than I already have) because neither of those is going to help me crawl up out of here. I have to give myself grace and pray for even more, then start with one good decision, then another, then a whole day, then a couple of days in a row, and so on. It’s maddeningly slow, but necessary at this stage.
Being a reasonably self-aware neurodivergent really sucks.
Maybe I should start taking applications for a Keeper. If nothing else I could use some enrichment in my enclosure. I wonder if I could get my Keeper to make me a giant ice cube full of fruit and salmon like they do for bears.
(Hold the salmon.)