Alone

I should preface this article by saying in no way am I blaming anyone in my life for contributing to my problems. Nobody I know and love has ever had a negative impact on my life.

I find myself understanding more and more what it is to be alone. I haven’t had a serious relationship with anyone. At least not one where I recognized it as such. You see, I have a disorder most commonly referred to as Major Depressive Disorder. It’s genetic, and only exacerbated by environmental factors. I could have a lot of friends, money, freedom, etc., and still feel this way. I understand it is a chemical imbalance in my brain. Technically speaking, my brain does not produce enough serotonin, norepinephrine , or dopamine, or enough of any combination of either to function normally. These are necessary to balance mood. When this happens, ones mood or personality is affected to the point of being unable to recognize the ‘normal’ level of cognition, emotional, and comprehension that people without this diminishment feel. There are over 60 types of drugs approved by the FDA to combat this illness, but there is no definitive diagnosis of what exactly one suffers a diminishment of. So the treatment is trial and error, over a very long period of time. Sometimes someone gets lucky, and the drugs they are prescribed level out the imbalance. For many, though, it is a long and arduous process of trial and error to combat the disease. The disease, of course, is called depression, bipolar disorder, ptsd, etc.. Every time you start a new drug, or combination of drugs, it takes about 4 to 6 weeks to figure out if it helps. Environmental and historical causes also affect the treatment. It’s literally a guessing game. I know I have environmental and historical elements that affect my disorder, which only makes it more difficult to treat.

I am jealous of those that can combat the disease early on. I have been doing so for several years. I’m not alone, either. Some people reach their 40’s, 50’s, and even 60’s before they find a regimen that works for them, and makes them feel normal.

‘Normal’ is a subjective measure, yes, but it is important to those with depression. I can only attest to my own feelings and here they are:

I cannot form meaningful relationships. I have never been in a long term relationship and I worry about what my family thinks of that. So far there has been no pressure to be in a relationship from my family and I actually appreciate that. I’m sure, or I hope, that they are actually worried about the absence of someone special in my life, but I don’t expect them to constantly worry about it. Depression is a burden on me and it would be a burden on anyone that would have any sort of emotional relationship with me. I can’t burden someone else with my problems – the periods of lethargy, laziness, self loathing and confusion. My hope is that I can control it before I ever become an integral part of someone else’s life without any negativity.

I cannot maintain meaningful relationships with friends. I am elusive, deceitful, and overall pitiful in groups. Depression is always there, and I can’t contribute to a positive atmosphere that one should expect from a friend.

I feel like I am on a different planet from others. I don’t expect anybody else to understand, comprehend, or be able to help me in my depression. I don’t loathe them for it, I just can’t relate and I assume they can’t relate. I know I’m not the only one, but that doesn’t help.

I have tremendous love for my friends, family, and strangers, but I can’t properly display it. This is the worst part of depression. All I want is to be altruistic, supportive, and loving to others around me. Sometimes I can, and others I can’t because it takes too much energy to do so. This only exacerbates the depression.

It’s a vicious cycle, wanting to be loved and wanting to love, and wanting those close to me to understand that I do love them and appreciate their support regardless if I accept it or not. It’s not my will to reject love, it’s just the depression. I hope to one day overcome the disease so I can experience the world for what it is – a loving communion between friends, family, and strangers alike, but my brain keeps me in a prison of my own self loathing.