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Viewing entries tagged
Major Depressive Disorder
In the spring of 2015 I started going to therapy for the first time. I was a couple of months away from going through with a pre-planned suicide attempt for my 25th birthday before, almost at the last minute, I randomly sought help. With a series of unexpected deaths and abusers that lined my mental oasis, the seeds of depression had bore the fruits of fear, self-harm and loathing. Making my peace with God, I counted down the days until I turned 25.
People who struggle with nonverbal communication, such as individuals on the autism spectrum or with non-verbal learning disorders, such as myself, are especially vulnerable to this. We struggle with understanding sarcasm, eye rolls, and other such nonverbal social cues. Making friends, as a result, is really, really hard for us, and when we get friends, we automatically assume that if they’re hanging out with us, they’re doing it because they love and care about us. Even when they say and do mean things to you.
Two of my ex-boyfriends from my college days, both brilliant engineers with incredibly broken spirits, loved labeling me as ‘weird’ and would call me that when they were irritated with me. I dated one right after the other, and both could not stand how non-verbal learning disability (NVLD) and major depressive disorder (MDD) had shaped me, snapping ‘Stop acting weird!’ more times than I can remember, so much so that being called ‘weird’ now causes me to physically flinch.
And why not? Humans, we’re a complicated bunch, and for most of our history, we have tried in various ways to understand ourselves. One of the best, and most devastating ways, is through measurement. It makes sense: if someone has the most number of something, whether it is money, land, or children, then that is measured by the rules of their society as success. But this can lead to terrible things, ranging from eugenics to genocide. If someone does not measure up to the rules that the governing party that oversees them, then life can--and usually does--become incredibly difficult for them.
As I bring out the tomatoes and pull out an 8” kitchen knife my right arm grows tense and my palms start to sweat. The weight of the knife all of a sudden feels firm yet alien; it feels almost too comfortable in my hand. I pretend to not stare at the few thin residue scares from bleak years before that faintly decorate my wrist. An hour earlier I had a tumultuous confrontation with a close friend and so my funneled thoughts overturning each said word makes my mind and body feel separate from one another. I feel distant but desperate to reach a mental conclusion to the argument so that I can stem the bruised emotions. My obsessive mind can’t move forward without resolution, so it gets stuck in a mental cycle of repeated half-assed solutions. My soul is dying to stop being tormented by the sickly familiar parasite that randomly turns thoughts into a low pressure-chamber.
