That's because there's more positivity, hope, pluck and enthusiasm in me now than in all of 2016. Turns out if you work at stuff regularly for a long period of time, you start to see returns on the effort. Who would have thunk it. Thanks, I have always appreciated the hand up.There is more positivity, hope, pluck and enthusiasm in this Pubski post than in all of your 2016 posts combined.
It sure is fuckin' tough to hear when you're in the trenches though, huh? Not gonna lie. After missing a year of college and getting mired in 80 hours a week building a car and having all my friends move away and then actually making it to the Pacific Northwest and dating Real Human Girls I found myself driving through the mountains one day and literally started bawling. And for the past two years I've been more depressed than I was back then.
You seem to be doing all the right things. You're active, working, outdoors etc. don't seem to be boozing too much from the coherence of your writing :)And for the past two years I've been more depressed than I was back then.
I was sorry to read this. But, I take comfort in the fact that you, like me, have lived long enough to realize the ebbs and flows that are the human condition. Though, 2 years is a long fucking ebb, no doubt.
Dude it's not like I haven't been wearing it on my sleeve around here. My depression is directly caused by powerlessness. The first time, it was being stuck in a horrible place with no way out but to grind through a whole lotta toil. The second time, it was knowing I was putting myself in a horrible place with no way out but to grind through a whole lotta toil... and then the toil took on a life of its own. The first time I was alone and imagining that things would be better if only I had somebody to lean on. The second time I had the perfect person to lean on and it's still awful. I'm too sick to booze. Have been for too long.
They say "misery loves company," I'm not sure if that is true, but if I were in your neck of the woods, I'd welcome the opportunity to commiserate. You, like just about every Hubskier I've met, are good company to keep. You're a smart fella. Too smart. Maybe ignorance really is bliss? Lot's of happy Americans these days. Please forgive me if this is well chartered territory, I'm woefully past due on my hubskiing, but have you seen anyone professionally about this? I'm only mildly depressed and see someone every week about it. Without that weekly appointment, I'd be legitimately depressed. I think therapy, with the right therapist, is amazing. Especially for someone that is emotionally in-tune with themselves and brave enough to admit some hard truths. -You seem to fit the bill.
Saw a psychiatrist twice in October, I think. She listened for 45 minutes each time, largely without saying a word, then summarized that she'd like to see me twice a week to talk about my "so called eating disorder" (her air quotes, not mine), and gave me a superbill for $600 with the wrong ICD-9 codes on it that my insurance rejected. So yeah. Paid $600 to be mocked by a mental health professional for 90 minutes. It was rad. I realized the other day that the fifteen years I spent hating my parents for their abandonment of me was entirely due to another psychiatrist (girlfriend's father) who observed that children aren't born independent, they're born wanting to be held and my stern and unforgiving individualism was learned behavior. On the one hand, great. It's not my fault. On the other hand, thanks for kicking the shit out of my rationalization mechanism and leaving me with fucking nothing, asshole. I got to build that up on my own over a decade and a half. So really. Fuck all mental health professionals, everywhere, in all time zones, on all astral planes, because the only thing they've ever done for me is say "you're doing it wrong."
I feel like with certain issues it doesn't matter how qualified the therapist is they just won't get certain things. Eating disorders and sexual assault would rank pretty high in my opinion for topics you've got to be really picky about a therapist for. Considering an eating disorder is mainly about needing to have some form of control in one's life and men are entirely capable of feeling out of control over their life it would make sense that men can have eating disorders. Seems pretty damn simple to me.
No one is interested in treating eating disorders (current or past) outpatient. I'm guessing the liability is too high, considering it's the mental illness with the highest mortality rate. Which means as soon as you say "eating disorder" you're also saying "treatment facility." I have no time to spend 90 days with a bunch of amenhorreic teenagers.
I've also had mixed experiences, but I couldn't be happier with my current person. She'd never use "air quotes" for anything. Lot's of listening and all of it done in an environment that feels completely free from judgment. We set realistic goals for mental/physical health and for the most part it's been pretty amazing. I think you ought to find someone that doesn't suck. They're out there. And while nobody should tell you (especially after 2 sessions) that you're doing it "wrong." Does it feel like you're doing it "right?"
The issues are simple: 1) I know my problems. They're organic. 2) I know my solutions. They're organic. 3) I have very little patience for all the things in my life that take more time than they should or suck harder than they have an excuse to due to the incompetence or indifference of others. That's organic. 4) I have a latent and burdensome rage for all the people in my past that fucked me when all they needed to do was help the tiniest amount. That's organic, too, but there's nothing that can be done about it other than wax on, wax off, wave hands like clouds, push in the jive, bring out the love. So what we're left with is a high degree of self-awareness and a reasonable amount of mindfulness that, combined with an aversion to drugs, means there's effectively fuckall a mental health professional can do for me. I had this discussion not a week ago. You know what I'd do with a shrink? Shout at them. Yell at them. Cuss at them. Berate them as a surrogate for everyone that has stood in my way for no goddamn good reason or kicked me when I'm down because they just don't know any better. And I'm far too mature a human being to pay someone to shout at them. I'm glad you're having a positive experience. Mine have not been "mixed." They have been breathtakingly negative. It is fundamentally offensive to my soul to pay someone money to fuck my head over worse than it already is.
You know yourself, You know what does and does not work. Just know that I'm in your corner. About once a week I get a notification to congratulate you on some exercise milestone, so I know you're out there doing the work. To that end, I know you like to use apps to track your progress. Have you ever used the meditation app "Calm?" My brother bought me a years subscription to Calm for Christmas. It's been a great addition to my mornings. Takes 10 minutes. It's pretty amazing. I highly recommend.
I did a panoply of meditation shit. At one point there were five different apps on my phone. Meditation and centering isn't my problem; my problem is that in order to avoid tearing out the wall that my contractor didn't want to open in order to run the cable for the Daktronics display that isn't mine, I'm having to roll crazy-ass IOT comm port servers that one person at Daktronics recommended, another uses and nobody will call me back and I'm seven hours into this fucking problem. Every problem I have involves plowing through four people that can help, but don't. You can't meditate your way through that. You have to grind.
Goddamn it, ain't that the truth. I've noticed that even the heartfelt advice to I've given to heartbroken, down-on-everything friends, when repeated back to me verbatim improved my outlook ZILCH. That's why when things are good, I try to make mental deposits into the "Remember, Life Can Be Amazing" bank. It's just that the next swing of life into the trough is typically harder than the last, so it always feels like a special case.It sure is fuckin' tough to hear when you're in the trenches though, huh?
It's hard. It would be easier if there was a literal bank. I'll tell you, I did one of those goofy things I think I saw on pinterest. I set up an email account called something like "thatsworthsaving" at gmail. I then set a reminder and about once a week wrote things to that account. The original suggestion was a physical jar full of post it notes, but I wanted to write a bit more. Some weeks it'd be pretty banal and a bit forced but other weeks were huge. I'd write pages and pages. And then I stopped after life got busy -- you know people fall into and out of habits like that. Well anyway, a year or so afterwards, I logged into that email account and was astounded by how much I'd written about and had forgotten. The experience left me incredibly happy but also hyperaware of just how much our brains forget. Or mine, at least. I forgot so much. I think pairing this sort of memory gardening with the practice of mindfulness (in the sense of not identifying with every anxious or denigrating or angry thought that arises, vis-a-vis Sam Harris et al.) would certainly improve someone's outlook, especially over a lifetime. Lord knows I've been trying: it's called practice for a reason.
I'm not sure I follow. As a form of brain chemistry?Comes a point where the external transmogrifies into chemical.
As a form of "your biology is now doing its own thing separate from your psychology." Inputs and outputs no longer matter; your biochemistry is swimming in its own self-feeding witches' brew of cortisol, endorphins and hormones. And you have to stop feeding the feedback loop for a disturbingly long time before your reaction to events reflects rationality, rather than conditioned suffering.
And I'm sure this interrupting process only gets easier as you get older, right? D: