The Truman Show... In Reverse
Posted: Fri Dec 27, 2013 8:26 pm
So... here it goes. I've been frequenting this site for over a year now, always too timid to put my own story/words/experiences out there. I guess, at a certain point, you have to stop being a tourist and start being a contributor.
I was diagnosed with Dysthymia (Chronic Depression) just shy of ten years ago and have been in treatment/therapy/analysis, however you wan to define it ever since. It took a while for the diagnosis to come through because my symptoms were diverse in nature. I was misdiagnosed as having borderline personality disorder and OCD before a consensus was made and I was put on medication.
It finally made sense after that but definitely did not remedy the problem. Juggling prescriptions, treatment options and "remedies", I bounced around from depressive episode to episode and my reprieve in between was an overall feeling of malaise. Those dark thoughts haven't vanished, the contemplation of life's worth still invades my mind and yet, from the outside, you'd never know. So, naturally, I've been depicted as just a sullen, pessimistic individual rather than a casualty of mental illness.
Bi-Polar disorder runs in my mother's side of the family; my father (A Vietnam vet) suffered from depression early on and returned with PST. The double down on drama makes for a solid recipe for divorce. So my mother remarried and I was raised in a household with strong gender roles under the leadership of her new husband and vulnerability and weakness weren't tolerated. Most of my scars can't bee seen by the naked eye but they hurt nonetheless. Nature... nurture... doesn't matter; I won the lottery on both accounts.
What's astonishing is how much you seem to learn about human nature, about the ins and outs, the whats and why of how we interact when you're on the outside looking in, paralyzed to participate. I'm the confidante, the voice of reason, the go-to guy for relationship advice and simultaneously, I'm unable to put my own words into actions in a meaningful way.
So you learn to adapt, you deal, you put on that brave face and perform for friends, family, colleagues and strangers. It's been a survival mechanism I've adopted ever since I was a child, only I didn't realize that my need to hide in plain sight was out of my control. I thought I was just, plain, damaged. I learned to suffocate myself with work, activities, events, etc... in an attempt to avoid silence. I've leapt from bad relationship to worse to avoid solitude. The shallow void within me is a gaping hole that I can't seem to patch.
Here's the thing about people like me: you observe, you analyze; you learn the right phrases, correct gestures and what attributes a normal person has so when it comes time to put on a friendly face, a compassionate embrace, a warm smile, you improvise like your life depended on it and nobody suspects a thing. You advance in your life, your career, your relationships... all the while, feeling like a complete and utter fraud. That emptiness still remains.
I'm afraid to take off my mask,to let people see the real me; the shell of a person and at the same time, I want nothing more than to be accepted for who and what I really am. The stigma of being labeled damaged, of being "ill" is enough to make you a pariah without speaking a single word. It's a paradox, ten years in the making. I want to want, to desire, to yearn, to feel... and even with a combination of pharmaceuticals, all I do is exist. Still, I put on the mask and go about my day. It's safer than the alternative.
My thoughts and my feelings are seemingly at war with one another and I'm continually stuck in the middle. So, every morning I wake up, let my id and superego debate one another and force myself off to work, to my seemingly normal life. And every morning, I put my stock in hope; hope that someday, maybe today, that the hesitation, the fear, and that struggle will be long gone and that I can feel what others feel, smile without purpose and just be normal. Until then, the show must go on...
I was diagnosed with Dysthymia (Chronic Depression) just shy of ten years ago and have been in treatment/therapy/analysis, however you wan to define it ever since. It took a while for the diagnosis to come through because my symptoms were diverse in nature. I was misdiagnosed as having borderline personality disorder and OCD before a consensus was made and I was put on medication.
It finally made sense after that but definitely did not remedy the problem. Juggling prescriptions, treatment options and "remedies", I bounced around from depressive episode to episode and my reprieve in between was an overall feeling of malaise. Those dark thoughts haven't vanished, the contemplation of life's worth still invades my mind and yet, from the outside, you'd never know. So, naturally, I've been depicted as just a sullen, pessimistic individual rather than a casualty of mental illness.
Bi-Polar disorder runs in my mother's side of the family; my father (A Vietnam vet) suffered from depression early on and returned with PST. The double down on drama makes for a solid recipe for divorce. So my mother remarried and I was raised in a household with strong gender roles under the leadership of her new husband and vulnerability and weakness weren't tolerated. Most of my scars can't bee seen by the naked eye but they hurt nonetheless. Nature... nurture... doesn't matter; I won the lottery on both accounts.
What's astonishing is how much you seem to learn about human nature, about the ins and outs, the whats and why of how we interact when you're on the outside looking in, paralyzed to participate. I'm the confidante, the voice of reason, the go-to guy for relationship advice and simultaneously, I'm unable to put my own words into actions in a meaningful way.
So you learn to adapt, you deal, you put on that brave face and perform for friends, family, colleagues and strangers. It's been a survival mechanism I've adopted ever since I was a child, only I didn't realize that my need to hide in plain sight was out of my control. I thought I was just, plain, damaged. I learned to suffocate myself with work, activities, events, etc... in an attempt to avoid silence. I've leapt from bad relationship to worse to avoid solitude. The shallow void within me is a gaping hole that I can't seem to patch.
Here's the thing about people like me: you observe, you analyze; you learn the right phrases, correct gestures and what attributes a normal person has so when it comes time to put on a friendly face, a compassionate embrace, a warm smile, you improvise like your life depended on it and nobody suspects a thing. You advance in your life, your career, your relationships... all the while, feeling like a complete and utter fraud. That emptiness still remains.
I'm afraid to take off my mask,to let people see the real me; the shell of a person and at the same time, I want nothing more than to be accepted for who and what I really am. The stigma of being labeled damaged, of being "ill" is enough to make you a pariah without speaking a single word. It's a paradox, ten years in the making. I want to want, to desire, to yearn, to feel... and even with a combination of pharmaceuticals, all I do is exist. Still, I put on the mask and go about my day. It's safer than the alternative.
My thoughts and my feelings are seemingly at war with one another and I'm continually stuck in the middle. So, every morning I wake up, let my id and superego debate one another and force myself off to work, to my seemingly normal life. And every morning, I put my stock in hope; hope that someday, maybe today, that the hesitation, the fear, and that struggle will be long gone and that I can feel what others feel, smile without purpose and just be normal. Until then, the show must go on...