Depression: How I Got Here

 

A few years ago, I finally had the courage to tell my doctor (at the end of my appointment that day) that I was not okay.

"I'm not okay." I said.

She put her laptop and clipboard away, sat down across from me, and said "Let's talk about that."

After meeting with her and a clinical psychologist, I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder, panic disorder, major depressive disorder, and PTSD. Yes, I know that sounds like a lot, and many people who don't fully understand mental illness will say "What, you just magically came down with all four overnight?" No, I did not. Those four disorders, along with others I don't deal with (like bipolar-1, borderline personality disorder, and OCD to name a few) can come on suddenly, or one can develop because of one of the others. A person's PTSD can initiate the anxiety disorder, which leads to depression, or they can happen in the reverse order, or in any order. The brain is such a complex thing, and we don't fully understand how these disorders develop, or how they progress. So finding a magic cure is almost impossible.

Because of that, though, and because the things affected are mental and not simply physical, these disorders are often marginalized by people who don't have them, either because they don't want to take the time to educate themselves, or because they feel the person's mental illness is something everyone deals with to a degree, and they should just "suck it up".

Example, these are attitudes I have personally experienced toward my mental illness:

"You have anxiety disorder? I get that. I get anxious too. Just count to five and breathe. It'll pass."

"You have depression? Well, I think we all get sad from time to time. You just need to count your blessings."

"Panic disorder? You don't have to be scared. Have you tried meditation?"

"You have PTSD? Where were you deployed? Was it Iraq? Oh, you aren't military? Then how do you have PTSD?"

(I'm not kidding. This is what I have had people say to me about each one.)

So let's talk about where my issues began and how they progressed. Yes, I'm opening my backpack and dumping it all over the table. If you are a "TLDR" kind of person, you may want to just close this window and go back to scrolling your feed. I won't be offended.

Many people who deal with clinical depression remember a time when they were "okay". We can think back to before depression took over, and maybe even pinpoint a time or event that triggered it. Maybe it was the death of a loved one, an injury or illness, or some form of physical or emotional abuse. Regardless, we are fairly certain that before that time or event, we were okay. We may have had bad days, like everyone does, but we were mentally and emotionally healthy.

Then the thing happened. And everything went to shit.

In my case, the triggering event was a trip overseas. I won't go into all the details, because they are personal, but in short, some words I said were misunderstood by a few people there because of language barriers and cultural differences, and the resulting snowball effect put me in forced "time out" (for my own safety) until I could return home. This place was a place I had poured my heart and soul into over the years, and had fallen in love with so many people there. This event severed most of those ties in one snip. I can never go back, because I don't know who I can trust outside of a tiny handful of people, and I can't ask them to babysit me. People on the outside of this might read this and think "You're still hung up on that? That was years ago! Move on!" but that was the beginning of my anxiety, depression, and PTSD. Try telling someone with (what you see as) a true case of PTSD that they should just "Move on." It's the same concept. Full offense. It's the same.

When I got back from that trip, I returned to find out some petty, ignorant rumors had been started about me at church by a very gossipy and ignorant deacon. I had to clean that mess up, confronting him, and having him yell at me that "He was only repeating what he had been told." Because of his actions, many people began to stop trusting me at church. A few weeks later, another incident took place there that resulted in us leaving that church permanently. The ministry I had fostered at that church for over a decade was also gone with one snip. This further advanced my depression, but like most men are told to do in life, I put up a wall and put on my boots and walked through it.

Then, a bright spot happened. I got a job that was so good for me. It helped my depression in ways I cannot even begin to explain. It was at a bookstore. My boss was amazing. My coworkers were amazing. The work environment was amazing. I felt like I had been given a new start and this place was the beginning of that. I found such joy in helping people love books and nerdy media items like I did. It was pure bliss. Sometimes I would go back in the back room and mist up because of how happy I was to work there. I knew I was going to work there forever.

Then, we had a management change. The new boss was a complete tyrant. She had zero empathy, zero people skills, a hateful attitude, and she didn't give a shit what anyone thought about how she rain things. People started crying on their break, or just plain walking out. My little place of zen was now a place of sadness. I politely and professionally voiced my concern over this to her, and rather than listening, she cut my hours. After being reduced to 5 hours a week, I gave up and put in my notice. Her response to this was to put a mark on my record with the company saying I had been a difficult employee, and that I should not be considered for rehire, ever. A few weeks later, she was fired, but the mark she put there was permanent, and in spite of my petitioning for being hired back, I was told I would not be considered because of the record she entered. So, my job I loved is gone, and I lost it by defending the company as a place to work that should foster happiness.

Whenever I go back to that store, I am struck with such a wave of emotional loss; almost like walking into the room of someone who died that you loved so much, and seeing all their things there just as you remember them, but they are gone, and you can't ever get them back.

So, to recap, I lost a city I loved with all my heart, a ministry I loved with all my heart, and a job I loved with all my heart.

"Big deal." some might say. "I lost my wife/child/mother/etc." But that's the thing, mental illness prevents you from healthily healing from those losses.

But this is already running very long, and I can't imagine why anyone would want to read my ramblings, so I'm going to call this "Part One" and stop here. In my next post, I'll tell you what it's like living with this from day to day. (Bet you are looking forward to that!) Some of it is amusing, some of it is heartbreaking, and some of it is just plain weird.

But I promise, it gets better. It really does.

Buckle up.

 

I tried on a dress...

 

Well, sort of. 

As an experiment.

A demonstration for myself and for others.

Let me explain:

As a sociologist, we are constantly searching to understand the societal constructs that make up the world. This means going beyond research on paper and diving into the real world, often making yourself part of the experiment. If you are a good sociologist, that is.

I'm a 47 year old man, cisgendered, and 100% straight. But one day, I was listening to a podcast by a woman who was transgender. She had been born male, but now was living as female. It took her 24 years to come out and begin living as a woman. She had grown up in a conservative home with parents who had no idea she was trans. She would steal clothes from her older sister and hide them in a box in the basement, venturing down there to try them on and wear them for a few hours here and there while she was home alone.

The few times she had hinted about buying clothes that weren't blatantly masculine (or neutral) as she grew up, she had been given a sharp rebuff. "Guys don't wear pink." or "Those shoes look too girly." So she gave up on this until she could buy her own clothes, usually from Goodwill, because they charged by the piece and didn't examine each item as it went into the bag.

She said--

"For those who don't understand what it's like to be forced to wear clothes that don't match your gender, and yes, I am primarily aiming this toward straight men, I want you to do something for me. Go to Goodwill, find a dress that will fit you, and go into the dressing room and try it on. Make sure you take off everything but your boxers before you do. Cinch it up or jerk it down so that it will fit as it should. Now, look at yourself in the mirror, and don't look away for a full 30 seconds. If the feeling you get when you do that is one of embarrassment, horror, extreme awkwardness, and the desire to get that thing off as quickly as possible, you have just been given a small taste of what trans people endure every day prior to coming out to the world. Also, so you can relate to trans people like myself who waited until I was an adult to make this change, imagine not changing out of it, and instead stepping outside the dressing room wearing it, and continuing to shop. If the idea of doing that fills you with terror, you are experiencing a micro-slice of what it felt like the day I finally had the courage to wear the clothes that matched my gender out in public. I had been told my entire life that the clothing I secretly wanted to wear was not what "real" guys wore, and so I developed an aversion to my own body's identity. A reverse-body-dysphoria. Not hating my body, but hating what my body needed and wanted. That was how I lived every day until my coming out, and a picture of the identity complex I had to overcome once I did."

And--

"Imagine being a woman who was in an abusive marriage where the husband made her believe that only women who are whores experience pleasure from sex. So you spend your entire life trying to not enjoy it, until one day, the asshole leaves you for another woman. Then, years later, you meet a good man. A man who wants you to enjoy it, and when you are with him, you do. But you have been made to believe that to enjoy it is bad, so you feel bad for enjoying it, and when you climax, you feel like a piece of trash. You've been made to believe that what was natural to you was unnatural, and now you have to relearn how to experience this, all while shutting out the damage inflicted by the person before. That's what this is like."

So, as I mentioned before, I tried on a dress. Well, I cheated, and only held it up against me after getting out of the shower, but as I looked at myself in the mirror, I felt the horror she mentioned. I looked like a man in a dress. A big, fat, hairy man holding up a woman's sundress against his body. I imagined what it would be like if I actually put it on and went to the store. I shuddered at the thought. I would want to wear a bag over my head and get the hell out of there as quickly as possible. 

Then I tried to imagine what it would be like, if in my heart, that was what I really wanted to wear. All my life I have been trained to believe that men dress like men, and that a man in a dress just looks...wrong. I'm lucky, so lucky that I don't have a desire to wear a dress...because my brain would not be okay with it. 

And as I type this, I think, "The people who need to read this have probably already unfollowed or blocked me, so why am I even writing this?" Maybe it's in the hopes that there is a dad (or mom) out there who needs to read it who hasn't hidden me from their feed. Maybe their child is trans, and would benefit from their parents understanding this one aspect of it.

I tried on a dress.

I challenge other men who have never done so (outside of wearing one as a joke or on halloween) to do this as well. Stand there for a moment wearing it, and try to feel beautiful. This is what that trans person has been trying to do all their life.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

I'm so, so sorry.

 

I'm sorry. With all my heart. For so much of what I did and said. More on that in a moment.

The other day I was listening to a podcast, and one of the guests, a transgender guy (born female, now male) was talking about the day he came out to his parents. That morning, before his parents woke up, he went through his closet and packed all his clothes that were feminine in any form into boxes marked for donation. What he was left with was a handful of t-shirts, a couple of pairs of jeans, and not much else. He took a deep breath, said goodbye to the girl he had been expected to embody for 15 years, and went downstairs wearing jeans and a heavy metal band shirt. He asked his mom and dad if he could talk to them for a few minutes.

After pouring his heart out, pleading for understanding, and holding firm to who he was, he waited for them to respond. His mother burst into tears and left the room. His father spoke calmly, but with the intent of showing he would not back down either:

"You asked us to not say anything until you had finished, and now I expect the same from you as I tell you how I feel about this on a factual level." Dad said.

"The fact you have rejected your gender means you have rejected who God planned you to be; that tells me you value yourself more than you value God."

"You reject your gender with pride, and with a happiness surrounding this new identity. That tells me you do not feel remorse or shame about rejecting God's plan."

"You show unwavering support for others doing the same thing, and that tells me you are encouraging others to reject God's gift as well, as they see fit."

"Evidence of salvation in Christ is shown by our humility, and our recognition that we have sinned. People who are saved may stray, but they know what they are doing is wrong. You seem to see nothing wrong with what you are doing--so this tells me you are not saved as we believed and as you claimed to be."

"You have said that you have no plans to ever go back to who you were, even though I say you still are that, whether you want to be or not."

"Because you have rejected God's gift, rejected God's plan, have no remorse or shame for it, and have no plans to ever repent, it tells me you have chosen the flesh over God, and over us."

"Satan roams the earth seeking to devour who he may. You have chosen the flesh and the world over God, which means that you have chosen Satan. You embrace Satan--with open arms. And that means you are bound for Hell. And since you show no shame or remorse, it means you are likely beyond redemption."

"My daughter has chosen Hell." he said, refusing to honor his request to be called son. "She has chosen Satan. She has chosen the flesh. And she will probably die condemned. Permanent separation from God and from us for all eternity. You are bound for Hell, by your own choice."

After he finished speaking, the young man cried as he ascended the stairs to his room. Not because he believed he was bound for Hell, but because he still loved Jesus, and his father had just claimed his love for Christ and his family was a lie.

~~~

I'm writing this blog post to apologize. For years I taught children in church and conveyed to them as they began their prepubescent years that God did not approve of homosexuality and I painted images of when he incinerated Sodom and Gomorrah. I made children fear God's wrath at homosexuality, and when I taught teenagers in the church, I did the same thing. I shamed the LGBTQ+ community, and said they were rejecting God and turning to sin. I told them that homosexuality was a more detestable sin than others, and to accept it or defend it was to defend sin and Satan.

I made children and teenagers (who might have been secretly feeling they might be gay or trans in some form) feel that they were perverted and corrupt. I shamed them for their feelings, and hurt their hearts in the process. I hurt their hearts because I was a figure they trusted--someone they looked up to--and I told them that these feelings were sinful and shameful if they were having them.

I know one person on my friend list who was one of my church kids who is now openly and outwardly trans. I hope he can forgive me for what I said back then.  I hope others will as well, who I may not know, or have not come out yet.

I support you. 

I have no doubt there are people in the church who will read this and immediately go to I Timothy 4:1 and say this is evidence I have rejected God. 

So be it. I choose the love that Christ asked us to show to all, and empathy for those who have been made to feel ashamed.

I choose the hearts of those children who are now adults and young adults.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry for who I was and how I made you feel. You deserved so much more understanding and support. 

I offer it now, without condition or reservation.

 

Invite Us to Things. - Day 30

 

This may seem like statement of affirmation in the image above, but don't forget that many people you seem to always have to text first are very introverted, and if you didn't text first, they might see their wanting to hear from you as them being "needy" or an imposition. You texting them every once in a while reminds them that they are important to you, and that you thought about them today.

 

Introverts are often bad about not texting back. We see your text, smile because you texted us, and then respond to your text in our heads and not with our phone. Not all of us are like that. Some of us are so happy to see you messaged us that we will drop everything we are doing just to respond to you--all over the floor.

 

We also often find that many people only text us when they want something. Money. A ride. A favor. We don't mind those things usually, but if that's the only time you text us, it makes us feel like that's all we are to you. It's even worse when the person texting starts off with small talk (when we haven't heard from them in weeks or months) in an attempt to make it seem like they aren't only texting us for that purpose. We know it's coming. We love you, but we're not dumb.

 

(Texting for advice is something we don’t mind though. We love when you value our opinion.)

 

Include us in things. Invite us to things. Please. We may not always come, but it feels so good to know we were important enough to ask. We've often convinced ourselves that we are the "oddball" and that not being invited to the party or the get-together is to be expected because we are awkward. This rings especially true when we already deal with depression, as many introverts do. 

 

Please, invite us. We're trying.

 

Keep texting first. Some of us live to hear our phone go "Ding!"

Different Colors - Day 27

 

"Someone being given rights they didn't have before does not mean less rights for you."

One of my friends from high school is trans. Born male, and now lives as a female. Her pronouns are she/her. She is pansexual, but identifies closer to bisexual on most days. I was having a conversation with her the other day online, and I asked her what was the hardest part of living as a trans woman, for her. She talked about a few of the challenges, but in the end, some things she said stuck out to me...and they were messages she wanted to convey to men and women of cisgender who, like she has experienced all too often, are critical of who she is and how she lives. I'm stealing a few of her quotes here, so bear with me:

~~~

"For men who say they are worried I will come onto them at a bar without revealing my being trans, then when we get back to their place, there I am in all my glory, let me make this clear: I paid well for my breast implants, but chose to stop there and not go any lower. I am aware I look very feminine, and I'm proud of that fact. But I have worked so hard for acceptance; way too hard to risk being hurt. Trans women are frequent victims of violence by men who didn't know what they were getting into, and to make sure I never endure that, I am honest about who I am from the get-go. Also, if you are worried about getting me home and finding out things you don't want to find out, you obviously are only interested in one thing, and I'm not looking for that kind of relationship. Thanks in advance for your understanding."

"No, my life does not revolve around sex. Does yours? If so, wow, you must be very fascinating."

"Just because I am trans does not mean I am gay. I'm bi, but not all of us are. We identify in many different ways, and if you are uncertain, ask...respectfully."

"I'm not sure if the person I marry will be male or female gendered. I do know they will be human, and that's what matters."

"My family knows about me. Those who approve are still in my life, those who don't, aren't. I don't regret either."

"I use the restroom marked women. I pee sitting down unless the toilet is filthy. Why that fascinates so many of you, I have no idea." 

"I can rock a suit, as most women can. I prefer dresses, though, because pants are annoying."

"Accidentally calling me by the wrong pronouns but being willing to learn is totally fine. As long as I see you are making an effort. Calling me by the wrong pronouns (and by my dead name) because you are refusing to accept who I am is hurtful, and mentally destructive. Please, show some kindness."

"I am a Christian. God made me how I am, therefore I am perfect in His sight. I am also so proud He finally gave me the courage to be the person he made me to be."

"Not every trans person is going to agree with everything I say and feel about me personally. We are all different, and that's what makes the world we live in both dangerous, and beautiful."

The Red Pill - Day 26

 

 

Gah, my undergraduate is finally over. I'm reflecting back now on the journey.

 

Psychology was like waking up and seeing the world around me. With Psychology, you learn why you think how you do, and why others think how they do. It takes the blissful mystery out of many things, to a large degree, such that even people who say "You don't know me; don't think you do!" are known--by you. You may not know everything in their mind, but you know how their mind works--and that's a scary thing.

But--Sociology. God, sociology is like taking the "red pill". My teacher Barbara Greene in high school said "This is going to make you love and hate people, concurrently." Then my college professor Naomi Wolfe took me to a new level with this; such that I began reading things I never would have bothered with before.

Dangerous things.

Things that explain why people react to situations and people in the way they do. Books with history-rich documentary of people responding to this movement or that person in the same way people today respond to this movement or that person. People today, of course want to say "Well that was a different time, and that person was different than me. I'm following this person/movement/idea because of this, not because of that.

Psst--that's what they said too.

I remember frequently wishing that I could magically be transported back to my childhood, but with the same knowledge I have right now. How differently I would do things. However, having the knowledge I have now would be a mental torture chamber. Knowing when and how people would die, for example, and my being powerless to stop it. That's what sociology is like. Knowing why and how people react to things that have happened before, even though they feel their motives today are "oh so different" from the motives of those people twenty, fifty, or even two-hundred years ago.

A lot of people have unfollowed me on Facebook over the past couple of years, due to a concept of psychology related to confirmation bias. It's okay, we all do it. I know I did. Because of that, though, people who used to see my blog no longer do, and that's fine. I see their posts where they are blissfully going about their lives, when actually, I know what they are trying to convey both to the world and to themselves. That knowledge is a frightening thing.

I see you.

 

But you unfollowed me, so you can't see me.

(Ha-ha.)

 

I remember reading an X-Men comic back when I was a kid, and one of the mutants had the power of future-sight as well as mind-reading. Professor X told him that his gift was both a magnificent blessing and a torturous curse. Always knowing the minds of people, but being powerless to change them. Always knowing how things would end, but unable to change them. 

 

Professor X said "The worth of the gift you have been given hinges on how you use it, and whether you always use it for good."

 

"But it hurts." he said. "I want the pain to stop. Please, make it stop!"

"I can't make it stop, but you can use it to teach others before they grow into who we have become. Join us." Professor X said.

Gah, join us.

Barbara Greene and Naomi Wolfe.

What am I getting myself into?

Graduate School - Day 25

This little guy is a Tufted Titmouse. His name is Tiny Tim. He battles daily for a spot on our bird feeder against a constant throng of house finches. 

He's a fighter.

Years ago, when I was in middle school, I was attending a Christian school--a little small town organization run by a local pastor out of his church. Kindergarten all the way up through 12th grade, but only abut 100 students total. Sixth through twelfth grade was all in the same classroom (a recipe for disaster) and there were about 30 of us.

Two of the students, Nathan and Paul, were members of that particular church-school, along with their family. Nathan was in eleventh grade, built like a brick, and he was a physical bully. He would kick you in the back as you walked down the hall, and when you fell over, he'd laugh. Fighting back did nothing to earn his respect, he would just pound you again and call you a pussy. Paul, his brother, was in tenth grade, and a verbal bully. He would find things about you that were odd, or not "up to code", and trash you in front of everyone. If you tried to shut his mouth for him, Nathan would jump in front of you and kick you to the ground. Afterward, both of them would laugh at you. You quickly learned who owned this school, because if you reported this to the teachers, no consequences were meted out beyond a "we'll have a talk with him".

(The "talk" usually resulted in you being cornered behind the building by Nathan.)

Being in Nathan and Paul's good graces were the only way you were going to survive in this school, and those brothers weren't going anywhere. Their parents were BIG tithers, and donors.

I remember one day out on the playground, Nathan had one little boy, Robbie, pinned against a tree. He'd tickled him mercilessly until he wet his pants, a dark stain now down the front of his jeans. A crowd of students had gathered, and Paul was hyping them up.

"We need a name for Robbie. He ain't gonna be Robbie anymore. Should we call him piss-pants, or faggot?" he asked.

Laughter.

"All for piss-pants, say PISS-PANTS."

Laughter, mixed with piss-pants.

"All for faggot, say FAGGOT."

The faggots won.

Audience participation at it's finest.

Some students reasoned that Robbie was probably gay, and continued to call him faggot.

......

That year, on awards night, two particular awards were given out to specific students who showed exemplary character and representation of what Christ was to his disciples--examples of leadership and compassion.

Nathan won for leadership.

Paul won for compassion.

It's easy to say "Well that was corrupt behavior by the school based on favoritism and financial interest." But there is something to be said for Nathan and Paul's popularity and influence as causality. 

Administration defended them because they were members of the church, and "we must remember that only God can judge them". Students defended them out of fear, but also, there was a level of entertainment value when you were not the one being pinned to the wall.

Christian adults defended them, even though they did horrible things. Could Nathan and Paul quote the bible? Oh yes, their parents had them at church every Sunday. But their behavior was disgraceful.

It has continually amazed me how good people defend and support bullies, then when those bullies attack, those same people say "Well you should have stood up to them." or "Oh, he's not all that bad. He's just had a rough life."

(I want no part of Christians who defend bullies' behavior. None. For any reason. If you are a Christian and you defend bullying, no matter what the reason, I'm done with you.) 

This is why I am majoring in sociology. So that I can unpack why supposedly good people defend and rationalize the behavior of bad people.

But most of all, to be a voice for the marginalized. Especially the ones who are told they are asking for "too much" or that they are "being too sensitive".