I really can't be bothered (part of a 'Uses for a maths teacher' cartoon by Miriam Slechter

Do you ever have days when nothing feels worth starting and everything is shades of grey? Days when the sun doesn’t shine, and getting out of bed is the hardest thing you’ve ever done? Periods when the smallest chore becomes an impossible task?

Well of course you do. You’re human.

I remember someone telling me that as a youngster he worried he’d inherited chronic depression from his Mum. Later at university he discovered that everyone feels down for a few days at a time, now and then. It’s normal.

Actually feeling like this in adolescence (call that ages 12-25 ) is common. The hormones are rampantly badly mixed, the challenges of life are to be faced without as yet the desired rewards. Who am I? What do I believe? What will I do with my life? How do I succeed? Am I happy? Do people like me? Does she love me?

I get this feeling of lethargy and inertia far more often, and sometimes far more severely, than people without clinical depression. But it’s basically the same feeling. Over forty five years I’ve had many tricks suggested to me. I’ve tried them out, and discovered other possibilities too. This series will be the things I have found work. For me. Often enough to be worth trying.

Imagine you are at the top of a hill and the enemy approaches. You need to roll that boulder down onto them. But at first it won’t shift. These will be tricks you can try that might get the boulder started rolling.

Miriam’s picture? Yes we know verticals should look vertical even in a cartoon, but it makes sense when you see the whole picture.

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I was 21 when I had my first breakdown. I’d been suffering teenage depression on and off for six years but not known what it was, never questioned it. Suddenly I was too ill to go to lectures. In those days there was no specialist student health care, but a local GP (family doctor) had become increasingly concerned by the mental health problems he saw in his student patients. A year or two earlier he had decided to specialise in treating this epidemic. I was lucky enough to be referred to him by my own GP.

I don’t know what he prescribed me. Almost certainly a tricyclic antidepressant (this was autumn of 1970). I’ve just looked them up on the net and I certainly gained several recognised side effects: increased heart rate, drowsiness, blurred vision, dizziness, confusion. Mind you I was pretty confused when he first saw me.

The first consultation was weird. Okay so he sat behind a large desk and I had a traditional upright surgery chair. But he offered me a coffee, which was shrewd. It worked in much the same way as being given a drink when you arrive at a party. I had something to hold on to, something to take sips from as if I felt confident and purposeful.

His overall approach was way ahead of its time, perhaps because he had not been trained as a psychiatrist so came at the problem with fresh eyes. The starting point was medication, but he made it clear that the antidepressant was only to give me the opportunity to work hard at learning to cope with depression. So that’s what this was. Depression. Hmmm.

“The trouble is that when you feel down you have only the one escape route: running.”

I was a keen member of the university cross-country and athletics teams, and hell I enjoyed running. Best of all was ten or fifteen miles at relaxed pace through the beautiful countryside around Durham. That’s Durham England. If I felt a bit rough I went for a run. But if I felt seriously rough any attempt to run would be frustrating because the energy was gone. Clinical depression affects you physically. I would try to train and fail. The harder I worked at it the worse I got, which was absurd. Races were a waste of time.

“You try to escape by running and find that route is closed to you. What do you do? Nothing. You do nothing because you have no other escape routes set up apart from friends who are usually not available because they’re working or having a life of their own.”

I must have looked blank.

“When I get home from work I’m often feeling pretty rough. What do I do? I knock hell out of the garden. Do I like gardening? Sometimes. Not always. But I do it anyway, and it helps me feel better even when I don’t think I’m enjoying it. But some evenings it’s too dark or it’s raining heavily.”

What did he do then? Sorry, I can’t remember.

“Now you’re too depressed to run what other hobbies do you have?”

- I write.

“When was the last time you wrote?”

- well, er, I wrote a novel two years ago …

“Are you well enough to write?”

- er … well … I read a lot. I listen to music.

“You just told me you’re picking up books, trying to read them, and giving up after just a page or two. You said music isn’t doing anything for you anymore. In fact you have nothing but friends to fall back on when you’re this ill.”

I doubt I nodded, but he was right.

He told me I must find at least one new hobby. How? Well I could try browsing the local bookshop to see if anything caught my eye.

“This is your homework. You find one new activity to try. I don’t care what it is so long as you try it. No matter whether you find a new hobby first time off, the key thing is to try something. And then something else. And we keep going till you have a battery of escape routes to fall back on when you’re depressed. See you next week. Good luck.” He smiled and shook my hand firmly.

I went to the local bookshop (these days a Waterstones but not then). It was an Aladdin’s cave, but cold and dark and grey with the air like treacle. I kept wanting to cry but I made myself work through every single shelf of non-fiction. I read every title. I took some books off the shelf for a browse.

I have no idea what activity I picked, but I do remember the faint glimmer of light that doing something, anything, left me feeling ever so slightly better. No, I didn’t feel happy. No, I still couldn’t think straight. No, the future was still black. But something eased just a tiny bit, barely enough to notice. I had made a crucial discovery: when you’re depressed doing anything is better than just sitting around thinking about how bad you feel.

Actually there were two other long-term results: a lifelong love of browsing bookshops (which fortunately my wife shares, though it’s cost a lot of money over the years), and a tremendous variety of interests. To focus enough on writing to produce the next book for my agent to try and sell I’ve had to be brutal in sidelining many hobbies.

The doctor cum counsellor I saw in Durham from 1970 through 1972 used a range of techniques. The one I’ve described above would probably now be called solution-focused therapy. It was exactly what I needed at the time, and has benefited me ever since. I’ve sometimes used it with people I’ve tried to help, but rarely as forcefully as it was used on me: once I had a really bad weekend and made an appointment to see this doctor. What was I supposed to do when I realised I was getting worse? Anything but sit around moping. What had I done over the weekend? Sat around moping. There’s your answer so next weekend have stuff planned and do it no matter how you feel. Just do it. He then warned me that if I ever came back complaining of being worse yet had not followed this strategy then he’d not see me again. Hard words, but spoken forcefully at exactly the right time. The next weekend I had planned in detail, and I stuck with the plan. I didn’t feel okay. But I didn’t feel worse. Success! Often success for a depressive is entering a bad situation and simply not feeling worse than before.

If your counsellor proposes some action on your part then you have only two rational choices: you can give it a go, or you can stop seeing that therapist. And what harm is it going to do trying out their suggestion? After all, it might work. You’ll be sure it won’t, but give it a go. Give it a serious go, and in so far as you can when ill be open minded. Not every suggestion will work, but you can be almost certain that when you first hear of something that can help you’ll try to reject it; that is part of depression.

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Relax. I'll be bouncing around again in a few minutes.

There are moments when suicide makes sense.

That is, it feels like it makes sense.

In the moment.

Especially if that moment drags on for days or weeks.

Today we heard of the death of influential fashion designer Alexander McQueen. Someone very close to him had just died. It’s not known at this stage if he committed suicide, but the possibility has been mooted.

That got me thinking.

If my wife Jenny dies before me then I’m sure I will be devastated, and I’ll not be at all surprised if I feel there’s no longer any point in staying alive myself. Living with chronic depression is tough, and such thoughts can flitter though my mind. Usually they are weak and comfortably brief. But I have nearly lost Jenny several times so I have a sense of how I may feel.

What I’ve done is promise myself I will allow time to recover from the immediate grief before making any critical decisions such as whether to move house. I guess suicide also counts as a critical decision.

You see when emotions are strong or depression is deep we don’t think straight. During depression is exactly the time NOT to make important decisions. I’m lucky. I know my depression will ease, so I just postpone following through on any ideas till I’m feeling better. It works. Some of the ideas then make sense, and some I realise are just plain silly.

When depression first hit in 1970 and I had no idea what was wrong with me I felt a bit suicidal. I talked to friends and that helped. My Doctor referred me to a specialist and that started me on the road to understanding, learning to cope, and realising depression was only temporary. Mind you that temporary episode lasted over eighteen months, but I survived. And I’m glad I did.

Many years later one depressive episode brought extended thoughts of suicide, and a friend (Peter Jolly) helped me through the suicidal stage.

If you are feeling like death could be an option then please talk it through with a good friend, and if you’re not already receiving treatment for depression then please go and see a Doctor as soon as possible. There are medicines that can probably help you, although some take several weeks before you feel the effects.

Above all else, be patient. If you want to kill yourself now, it will pass. Life will get better. There will be times worth experiencing again.

Afterthought

When I suggest chatting with a friend I’m not suggesting you text everyone in your address book. Some depressed people contact all their friends saying where they are and that they are about to kill themselves. If that’s what you’re doing then you are in a rough state and you do need professional help, but maybe what you’re really doing is trying to attract attention. You may be trying to shout ‘HELP!’ or you may just like the fuss. The trouble is that friends rapidly become fed up with you if you try this more than once. And let’s face it, friends shouldn’t be abused like that. Or to put it from a selfish viewpoint (which is much easier to grasp when depressed) you need your friends to still be there if it ever gets really serious.

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The winter makes me feel so lethargic and down

In the seventies a psychiatrist said my depression has a lot in common with hibernation in some other mammals. I’ve mentioned this before. I’ve no idea if the expects still believe that about some types of depression, but it’s a great metaphor, a great way of thinking about what’s going on, a great model to work with. Like all metaphors it doesn’t have to be literally provided it helps.

I’ve not been writing much lately because most times I’ve tried it’s felt like trying to run through foot-deep fresh snow (that’s a simile because I’ve made the comparison explicit by using the word ‘like’ – and yes I have tried running through such snow, in my younger days). The problem has been that right now my mind and body are trying to hibernate (that’s the metaphor).

Maybe not the day to go for a long run in the park - probably feel like trying to think when depressed.

What does hibernating feel like?

Rather nice, actually. I’m thinking of the many times in the last month when I’ve gone to bed in the middle of the day and let myself relax, possibly with the radio on. If I don’t sleep it still feels good to drowse. I envy the real hibernators.

Trouble is most of the time my head and body are telling me to hibernate, but I’m not set up to do it properly. Hedgehogs have no problem. My metabolism fails to fully respond.

Normally I do a lot of reading, both fiction and non-fiction. Recently I’ve tired after just a few pages. I can cope with maybe two hours of TV a day before that loses its appeal. Anything physical is unappealing (the chemical systems are telling me to hibernate, and exercise might wake me up – perishing brain is nothing if not logical).

Getting started writing is much harder, and the results not as good. I write a section and realise it is not that interesting; I need to come up with a different approach, maybe some good illustrations (metaphors? photos?). But I can’t be bothered. And if I do try then the cog wheels in my brain scream out for lack of lubrication (metaphor with alliteration ).

Sometimes I get going on some activity, but I’m far less likely to feel any pleasure from it. I’ve shifted from my normal atypical depression to a dysthymic state, which I find depressing.

So what do I do about it?

Decades of experience have taught me when it might be worth pushing myself, and when to stop worrying and go with the flow.

If I’ve also got some physical illness like a cold I know to take things more gently till those additional symptoms ease. This has become more important with age. Right now I have shingles, but am recovering nicely from recent chest and sinus infections. So today I tried writing this and it seems to be working.

Sometimes my head lies to me. I have got used to giving in to the feelings of lethargy. There comes a time when I need to try pushing myself a bit every few days just to check, and I know that one of those times I really will feel better once started.

I started today’s blog aware that I might need to take a break in the middle for a day or two, and that’s okay. I did not start assuming I wouldn’t finish. I did started hopeful.

It helps to let people and commitments jolly me into doing bits and pieces. I am tempted to get ratty when this happens, but actually it does me good in the long term to have to do a few things, to get out a bit, to have to meet people. I may or may not enjoy it, but it helps. We go out shopping. We have the occasional meal out. We visit with friends, but just not as often as normal, and we don’t stay as long. Real friends understand – partly because we’ve explained.

Getting some exercise most days is good too. Walking for quarter of an hour would be excellent since it would get me out as well, but it’s not attractive. Especially when it’s overcast, cold, raining or snowing. We recently bought a rowing machine, and five minutes on that is both bearable (most days) and makes me feel better. Jenny encourages me gently.

Then there’s the SAD light box. Theory is that lack of natural sunlight in the winter makes some people function less well, possibly by affecting serotonin production. A light box provides bright light with wave-lengths not available from normal artificial lighting. It’s much nearer to sunlight, though in my experience not as good. If the sun is shining I’m better off sitting in the front porch (a small conservatory) than using my light box, but otherwise the box is better than nothing. It makes a noticeable difference.

Ah, that's better. Even with your stupid light box half blinding me.

Here are some useful links if you’d like to know more (or just Google something like ‘sad light therapy’):

http://www.psycheducation.org/depression/LightTherapy.htm#which

http://depression.about.com/od/sad/a/besttreatment.htm

http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/seasonal-affective-disorder-treatment/DN00013

Does light therapy work? Scientific evidence seems confused, but personally I do feel better when I use my light box. It’s worth trying, but do read the instructions. Do buy the right one for you. Do consult experts.

My own box is some dozen years old, large and quite heavy. It still works providing I replace the tubes at worst every other year. I’m thinking of trying one of the new generation of smaller systems, perhaps a blue light or LED one. Must read that up.

Having depression which gets worse most winters is not the end of life. Yes it’s another obstacle, but one that can be overcome. If you’re patient. And realistic. And you want to.

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I'm not very bright, but I'm cute and I love you.

This is a question many people ask themselves, and sadly the answer can feel devastating. In the last twenty four hours I’ve encountered a couple of items which give a strikingly fresh perspective on this.

Was Franco intelligent?

We recently caught a TV program about the Spanish civil war. It was interesting, and highlighted my ignorance on the matter. I knew it happened in Spain (obviously) during that odd period of unrest and depression between the two world wars. I knew the winners were led by a guy called Franco. And that was it. So I borrowed a couple of books from the library.

The Nationalists were battling the Monarchists. Each group was made up of a pretty mixed bunch of people who spent a lot of time and effort disagreeing with each other rather than cooperating to win the war. A key difference was that the Nationalists were led by Franco, yet oddly he is described as ‘not one of the century’s great intellects’ and characterised by the statement that ‘his head was a cemetery of dead ideas’.

So if the guy was so stupid how come he won? It seems a key factor was his ability to lead. He brought the bickering groups on his side together, enabled them to see that their differences were minor compared with what they had in common, and acted as a single figure head for his side. Now that kind of skill is rare. We could do with more of it in our schools, hospitals, businesses, political parties, even charity shops. Franco may have been what some people call ‘thick’, but there was at least one way in which he displayed awesome intelligence. I guess he just wouldn’t have passed many exams.

Is Lenny Henry intelligent?

Lenny is a successful and much loved comedian here in the UK. This morning on the radio he described how as a youngster he was troubled by not being able to do Maths. This made him feel totally useless. If you can’t do Maths, what can you do? Well quite a lot actually. He certainly did. Now if we were looking for someone to head up the astrophysics department Lenny’s would not be the first name to come to mind. But so what?

During the post grad year of training to be a teacher I wanted to do my dissertation on intelligence but was dissuaded. Intelligence, the man said, is far too difficult a topic for you. You’re not an expert trained in psychology.

Hmmm.

Looking back, this advice said more about the lecturer’s failure to sort ideas out in his own mind. At the level of a dissertation ‘intelligence’ could have been fascinating. Okay, so there’s a range of theories. To some extent these are just different ways of looking at things. Let’s consider one approach.

In 1983 Howard Gardner published his ground-breaking book “Frames of Mind”. I’ve got a copy in the attic. It’s not written as popular science, so you might prefer the summary here on Wikipedia. In outline he suggested that there is not just a single ‘intelligence’ thing as supposedly found using IQ tests. He identified seven different types of intelligence, each of great value. We’re all good at some, weak at others, and the mix is part of who we are. It influences what types of stuff we’re most likely to do well at.

Franco must have been very strong in interpersonal intelligence. He was good at dealing with people. He knew how to influence and motivate them.

Lenny Henry would also score high on this one, but also is good with bodily-kinaesthetic intelligence. Watch the way he uses his face and body and voice.

I could get hung up over finding it so hard to remember names and faces. But it’s rather more sensible to feel good about what I can do, and choose a direction based on the talent that is there.

Books quoted above

The first statement above about Franco is from “Aspects of European History 1789-1980″ by Stephen J. Lee (first published 1987).

The second is from “The Spanish Civil War” edited by A.Puzzo (published 1969).

Yes, I unearthed them in my old school library.

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Yeh yeh, so it's another North York Moors photo. The question you should be asking is how come I lost the top of the sign? Certainly not intentional.

Maybe.

It happens.

In the first article of this series I referred to having crashed a number of times over the last forty years. These break-downs were excellent opportunities to learn. Not pleasant, but not without benefit either. If I’d never pushed myself I might have avoided all but the first collapse, but I wouldn’t have had much of a career and I would have missed out on so many great experiences and failed to meet so many great people. What I’ve learned is to recognise the signs that my head is no longer lying about how much energy I have left.

Trouble is we’re all different. Second trouble is it’s hard to describe internal sensations.  What I’ll do is try to indicate the warnings I watch for, and then give some idea how I learned about them.

My own warning signs

The most obvious one, especially if you cross my path, is I get increasingly bad tempered. Anne Sheffield describes this so well in her book, reviewed here. Everything becomes someone else’s fault, and no one is doing the job they’re paid to. Any passing remark can cripple me.

When I realise I can’t stop myself snapping at people I know it’s time to ease back for at least a few days.

I also get physically and mentally exhausted. My body feels like I’m wearing clothes that get heavier by the day. Understanding anything complex becomes tough or impossible. Sleep becomes disturbed. I start to ache a bit like with flu.

I know there are other signs, but I only recognise them when they appear. The trick is to wake up and respond when they arrive, to try my brakes. If the brakes are dodgy then stop driving while it’s still uphill.

PS I’ve remembered another sign. Near collapse I get some kind of lunatic obsession. I suppose it could be anger at all the people who don’t understand which way round the toilet roll has to go on its bar, but I’ve never actually had that one. Once I began to dread teaching a small bit of algebra. Somehow I got it into my head that unless I could write a piece of software to illustrate what was happening (not easy in 1984!) then they wouldn’t understand. This was despite having successfully taught it many times before. On another occasion I wanted to start a one man crusade against kids not bothering to be on time for their first lesson after break. Sadly not everyone who develops this kind of lopsided and mildly insane obsession has a break down, but for me it should have been (but often wasn’t) a serious warning sign. If I was still teaching it’s something I’d ask selected colleagues and friends to watch out for on my behalf.

How did I find out?

Er, the hard way. Like I found out most things that matter.

I’d keep pushing myself until I cracked. Then of course I’d need significant time off work to recover. Later I’d think back: what was different about the period leading up to the breakdown? Could I have handled it better? And I started to listen to my own feelings, both physical and psychological, and slowly caught on.

Looking back, there have been periods of deeper depression when I’ve kept going okay with just a few rests. These have felt different, but not in the same way as the last few weeks before a crash. The trick is to learn which rough feelings are livable and which indicate a need to ease off.

What’s the fix?

It’s now just over five years since the last time I let things go too far. That breakdown led to retiring a few years early from teaching. I don’t always catch myself in time, but usually I do these days. For me the trick is to ease off, stop expecting anything from myself, give my head a chance to sort itself out. Sometimes I have to lie down for a day or two, but I’m watching for when I’m ready to get up and maybe get dressed. Sometimes playing computer games for a few days is sufficient escape from real life. Then I need to start working at stuff again – though gently at first. Life is for living, but it doesn’t just happen. We have to accept our own share of responsibility.

We also need to live when the sun shines, learn to remember the bright days, and accept that other days are overcast. Even then there is life to live. Okay, so occasionally it’s not overcast it’s black. Nothing makes sense except feeling sorry for myself and maybe crying. My head tells me I’ll never be well again, life will no more provide any kind of pleasure or fulfillment. My head lies. It’s sick. I just have to survive and wait. A better time always comes.

Don’t moan about the bad times. Enjoy and value the good times, the times we can benefit the people around us who also have a hard battle to fight each in their own way.

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Life is an infinite flight of stairs that has to be fought up, and I know I can't even manage the first step.

So I wake up wanting to lie there for the rest of existence. Something to dull my senses would be good. When hedgehogs feel like this they hibernate.

 But I’m not a hedgehog. I have to take responsibility for part of my recovery. I need to train myself to do stuff even when the world is just blurred shades of grey and I know I can never feel pleasure again. Why? Some answers are here, posted two days ago.

Okay, I need to make a start on my own recovery. I want to have a life once more. How do I set about it? Here are some thoughts based on decades of study and experimentation:

Be clear what the problem is

I am ill. There is a chemical imbalance in my brain that is making me feel like this and is twisting my thinking. It’s not my fault I feel like this, any more than it’s my fault when I catch a cold. But I can fight it. The fight may be long and hard, but there will be better times along the way. If I’m not being treated by a psychiatrist then I need to seek medical advice. If I’m on an anti-depressant I may need to be patient, or it may be the wrong medicine, or I might need a higher dose for a while – so I may need to return to the Doctor. Once the chemical problem is a bit less crippling I might well find some form of counselling helpful.

But given all of that, I am living TODAY, and I have the ability to at least make a start. I can make one step towards my own recovery right now. My brain is for the while a bit damaged and tells me I can’t, but it lies. I can.

Start tiny, think small

I’m not out to run a marathon, just to make one faltering step and then rest. The thought of going through all the rigmarole of getting dressed is overwhelming, so forget that. Maybe I could run some warm water and rinse my face with a flannel. This usually makes me feel a tiny bit less rough, but if not that doesn’t matter because I have achieved something.

I enjoy coffee. How about I make myself a cup and then drink it while I rest.

Start from where I am

If I’m still lying in bed with the light off maybe I could simply sit up, maybe turn on the light. If I’m moping in a badly lit room I could get up and turn on the light. If I’m up and have had breakfast but still feel useless then for me opening this blog and starting to write is a good next step. Telling myself to go for a half hour walk is not. I may be up to that later, but not yet.

Break things down into the smallest parts

As a teacher I used to set out everything that would be needed to start marking a pile of books. I’d get it ready for someone else so all they had to do was sit down at the table, pick up a pen, and they were off. I wasn’t going to actually mark those books, just get them ready.

Some mornings I can’t face getting dressed so I tell myself all I need to do is clean my teeth. If that is too much and I can’t move then how about filling the glass with water and rinsing my mouth? Still too much? Go to the bathroom and move the glass from its hiding place behind the curtain to where I’ll see it next time I’m there. Some days it takes me four separate goes to get dressed: put clothes out for the day (rest), clean teeth, (rest), shave (rest), shower and dress (rest). And then I almost always can cope with a bit of real life.

Failure happens, move on

There are days, not often now but they happen, when I not only don’t get dressed but don’t even clean my teeth. Not good, but it happens. Okay, so that was a bad day. I’m going to make today better. My challenge, should I choose to accept it: at least run the electric toothbrush over my teeth and rinse. Ideally include tooth paste. But the key is to accept bad days as part of the illness and move on. If I fail it’s the illness. If I succeed it’s me. A day back is bad brain chemistry. A day forwards is an achievement.

If you feel the slightest bit better once you start, keep going

 Have you ever helped push a stalled car that needs to be bump started? The hard bit is getting it going. Once it’s on the move keeping it moving, and even speeding up, is easier. Depression is usually just the same. Once I’ve made the first move I can often cope with the one after that. If I’ve set myself the challenge of cleaning my teeth, nothing else, but once that’s done I feel up to it I just keep going and shave, and the logical next step is to shower and maybe even wash my hair. If I make it to fully dressed I’m usually okay to get some more stuff done, to have a life.

Don’t be fooled by how your brain says you feel

I don’t like it when the sun doesn’t shine, but I work hard at not worrying about it.

Telling myself I’ve taken the first step may not feel like anything, but it is having an effect. Recent research suggested that although patients do not realise an antidepresssant is helping them for anything up to six weeks it is actually having some effect from the first day (easy article here, more technical stuff here).

A depressed brain distorts everything. It's just a normal flight of stairs, with a beginning and an end. The sun isn't shining, yet, but all I need to do is put one foot on the first step, move slightly, and sit on the next step for a rest. I can do that.

I remember clearly the summer of 1971 when I was severely depressed and there was no antidepressant that helped. I’d been depressed for nearly a year and it wasn’t letting up at all. Nothing was pleasurable. I was living with my parents at their retirement bungalow in Sidmouth, Devon. A college friend invited me over for the day. He lived in Paignton. The journey required I catch a bus to Exeter and then train the rest of the way. Pretty easy for normal people, but a mountain to climb then. I made it. He met me at the station and spent the whole day arranging activities that I might enjoy. I can still feel the overpowering sense of gloom that I knew I should be having a good time, but wasn’t. Every single thing we did was for me just going through the motions. On the way home I sat on the sunny side of the railway carriage staring blankly at scenery that my intellect said was beautifil, but it left me cold. I just wanted to cry.

BUT at some level I couldn’t sense that day out helped me towards recovery. Cheers Steve. I felt no pleasure. Every activity was tedious. But it was the most active day I’d had since becoming depressed the previous November. I was moving on. I was building in the habit of doing stuff no matter how I felt. As a teacher I must have often been pretty bad when depressed, but I know there were black days when somehow my professionalism kicked in and I gave some good lessons. I didn’t need to FEEL happier as a result because I had made progress. Not much, but a bit.

Recognise when to rest

Yes, sometimes I’ve pushed myself and collapsed. Let’s consider that in the next post.

As the last two articles, this is the first draft, raw and unedited. Hope it helps someone.

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But I’m still badly depressed, although a high dose of antidepressant is now taking the edge off it. But there have been times when I wasn’t on an effective medication. I pushed myself. How? Why?

Why?

I've collapsed. The world is passing me by. I've nothing left so why bother?

What’s the point of making an effort? I just want to lie down and wait for the end.

I have no energy. I don’t want to do anything. There’s no way I can ever enjoy life again.

Leave me alone!

Why should I even thinking of trying the impossible?

Because you’re a human being still capable of having a life. And because your damaged brain is lying to you: it is possible!

One of the founders of NLP was being shown round a psychiatric hospital by a friend. They were chatting happily. When they entered a new area all the staff turned to glare at them and they realised everyone else was either silent or communicating in defferential whispers.

“What’s going on?”

“Not so loud please.”

“Why not?”

“Quieter! It’s the lady over there. She’s so depressed she’s become catatonic. It’s important we not disturb her more than absolutely necessary.”

“How long has she been in this state?”

“Weeks.”

Sorry, can’t remember if the visitor was Bandler or Grinder but he went over to chat with the woman. She sat motionless, staring at nothing, face drooped in sadness.

“Hi there.”

No response. Not a flicker.

Her dress was not full length. He reached forward, grabbed a leg hair from six inches below the hem, and yanked it out.

No response.

He found another hair showing just below the hem and yanked.

Her body gave a slight tremor.

“I’m going to keep doing this till you say hi back to me.”

This time he pushed the edge of her dress up a few inches to find another hair.

Her face changed slightly. Having your leg hairs pulled out one by one is hardle the Spanish Inqusition, but it’s not without pain either.

He reached higher still and pulled out another hair.

Her head moved slightly. “Stop doing that.”

“You haven’t said hi yet.” He pulled out another hair.

“I said stop doing that. It hurts.” Her face was more animated now, though still depressed.

“Say hi.”

My understanding is that was the start of an at least partial recovery.

When we’re very depressed everything feels too much.

Once many years ago Jenny withdrew into an almost catatonic state. She would not respond to the doctors or nurses at the hospital. I visited a florist and asked for the most aromatic flowers they had in stock. I bought an attractive vase I knew she would like a lot once well. Before going into the side room where she was lying – they didn’t want her disturbed – I put the flowers i the vase with water. Then I took them in, thrust them under her nose and told her to smell them. She did. “Aren’t the colours beautiful?” She focussed her eyes on the flowers and the first hint of a smile came onto her face. “Shall I put the flowers here right next to you where you can smell their scent?” She nodded.

That was the beginning of recovery. We hadn’t won the war, but we had won a battle.

In her book I reviewed here Anne Sheffield describes one chronically depressed man who often cannot even get out of bed in the morning. Sometimes he responds to his wife shouting at him, but if his son is dealing with the situation there’s no argument. The son just upends the mattress. And the amazing thing is, once he’s out of bed he’s more able to take the next step.

Why 1 : because you can

I now know that however depressed I am my mind is lying to me. It tells me I cannot do anything. It tells me I have no energy. It tells me there is nothing I can ever enjoy again so why bother. All of these are blanket generalisations, and false. The first two are out and out lies. The third may be true in the sense that until we get the right medication we may not actually feel any pleasure whatever we do, but overall it’s false. We can improve, and if we’re on suitable tablets we can fell a little better today.

Even if your brain is currently incapable of registering pleasure you still have the energy and ability to do some things. Okay, not as much as when you’re well, but a bit.

Why 2 : because it’s a start on the right road

Whether or not doing stuff can feel at all good today you need to take some responsibility for your own rehabilitation. Okay, I know how tough the first few steps are, but ultimately no one else can take them for you (although your son might tip you out of bed).

Part of living with depression is building an armoury of habits. Once you’ve done something difficult several times it becomes easier. But you have to do that first time. It’s hard, but somewhere inside there you want to feel better. You can’t snap out of it. Of course not. But you can do one tiny thing today. You have that much energy.

Why 3 : because it might feel just a tiny bit not so bad

How do you know nothing can feel good today? Because your temporarily damaged brain is telling you so, but it lies about many things when you’re depressed. How can you really know if today might be the first day you start to feel just for a few seconds not quite so bad if you don’t try?

We’re not talking running a marathon. We’re talking maybe just getting out of bed, or just rinsing your face with clean water, or just moving a few feet to where the sun can shine on your face.

Time’s up for today and again I’ve not been able to edit, so this is the raw first draft. I’ve got stuff I now feel up to doing. Back tomorrow with some how.

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Hey guys, what are you thinking?

It is rather obvious this bin has no more room for litter.

Leeds refuse workers are on strike, so this ain’t gonna get sorted any time soon.

We’re not on some country back lane where people dump old mattresses and fridges out of sight, this is a key route across Leeds inner-city ring road.

So what could be happening in the minds of those responsible?

I need to express how angry I am with ‘them’

My immediate reaction every time I walk past this sight is anger at the people who dumped their litter. Maybe they too are angry. At Leeds Council or at the strikers. And felt an urge to vent that anger by throwing the rubbish they’d planned to put in the bin. Not exactly constructive, but I know the feeling.

I’m going to make this problem more obvious so ‘they’ will have to do something

Now this is more rational; anger is directed at a practical solution. Trouble is it probably won’t work; there are more urgent refuse problems around the city right now.

I’ve just had a great evening and it’s tough being considerate

Well, there is a club a hundred yards away; and this is about where people who grabbed a takeaway in town will have had enough and want to drop the remnants. Yes, I’ve also sometimes had too much to drink. Afterwards I looked back and figured I’d rather not put myself into a state where I became loud-mouthed, obnoxious, and a bit dangerous behind the wheel of Dad’s car. Now as an old fogey I wonder if guys who need to get smashed several times a week shouldn’t get a life. But I can understand contributing to the mess by this bin after too many pints.

Hey, chill. It’s a laugh.

What a sight! Let’s contribute. Let’s be a part of it. This is fun. Life’s too short to fuss about stupid things like people dropping litter. Yes I get that one too but the fact is (trust me) life is actually quite long. I think it was Mahatma Ghandi who said ”There is no dress rehearsal, today is a day in your life”. Mind you he probably said it in one of the Indian languages, but even after losing something in the translation it’s powerful and true. Fun is great. Giving up on real life because it’s tough and painful and uncertain feels great for a time, but is it worth it? There’s more to life than just chilling, having a laugh, and trying to forget what life is really about.

And then again…

Maybe I’m the one whose thinking is twisted. The problem is identified. A solution is at hand. Perhaps on Wednesday evening I should take a large dudtbin liner and some thick rubber gloves (thick because there could be used needles in that pile) and clear up the worst of the stuff round that bin.

Mind you there won’t be room in our own wheely bin. The guys are on strike. Still, I could take a bag or two to the tip. The walk would do me good.

Here’s another shot from nearby. Not the best lighting conditions, but we wanted to get home for lunch.

Leeds inner-city ring road is a few yards below this shot.

And by the way when you think about it you realise there is no ‘them’. Only us.

Update: three days later

It is Thursday evening. Last night I walked past the litter bin once more. Someone had not only emptied the bin but picked all the litter up in that area. Thank you, whoever you are.

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