Struggling not to lose myself to depression

Depression affects nearly 15 million adults in the United States and is something which is all too common for those of us who are transgender; the two seem to go hand in hand. We all know the statistics, that 41% of trans people attempt suicide, which is 22 times more often than the general population. Most of us understand the causes and the treatments and learn how to deal with it well enough to get through the difficult times. There are numerous types of medications to treat depression, with new ones being developed every year, and therapy can also an effective option. And one of the most important things we can do to take care of ourselves is to not ignore the basic tasks such as eating, exercising, socializing, and just finding a reason to get out of bed in the morning. For me, the best treatment for my depression has been the support of my family and friends. When I reached the point where I no longer wanted to live, I kept going because I decided to start living for the people who cared about me. I may not have wanted to live for me, but I felt an obligation to live for them.

For most of my life I never understood how anyone could choose to end their life, because I knew that no matter how bad things got, it would always get better. Always. But now I do understand why people make that decision, and that scares me. It’s terrifying to sink so deeply into the pit of depression that you feel there is no way out, that the problems you face have become insurmountable no matter how hard you try. In some ways I feel like an addict, in the sense that my “addiction” is an understanding of and willingness to end my life, and that it’s something which I will always have to deal with. And that is a frightening realization.

Losing my job of 11 years at the university soon after I transitioned started a downward spiral which lasted over three years where I dealt with being unemployed and the resulting depression. Things got so bad that I felt the only option was to kill myself, which I would have done if not for my friends and family who refused to give up on me. They are the reason I am still alive. I worked hard and eventually I got to a place in life where I was happy and doing something which I was passionate about and that mattered. I felt certain that I was stronger now and past the point where the depression would ever get bad enough to where I would even think about suicide again. I thought I had weathered the storm and survived and come out stronger, but the past two months have shown me I was wrong about that. My time in Los Angeles ended on a bad note and I let it get to me for a day or two, but then I decided I’d worked too hard to get to where I was happy and productive and I was not going to let anything take that away from me. So I put it behind me and moved forward, and everything was okay.

I decided going back to Portland to be with my family was what I needed to do. I wanted to be there with my mom while she was dealing with her husband’s terminal illness and do whatever I could to help. I also wanted to be there to help my son move and get settled, especially since I haven’t gotten to see him much since he joined the military right after graduating from high school, so it’s been really nice having him around on a daily basis and catching up. And spending time with my beautiful grandson has been such a joy; hearing his giggles and seeing his smiles is the absolute best feeling. I thought Portland would be a good place for me to regroup and catch my breath before going back to Los Angeles. So I should be happy, and I was, but for some reason the depression has come back.

I had hoped to return to Los Angeles in late July, but I’m beginning to have serious doubts about whether that will happen, which in turn increases the pressure I put on myself to figure out a way to make it happen so I don’t end up being a burden to my friends here in Portland. It would be hard to leave my son and grandson, but at this point in my life Los Angeles is where I need to be. I miss my friends and the social life there, as well all the networking opportunities which would help move my career forward. I just feel stuck right now and not very productive, which is a dangerous way for me to feel.

I know all the signs and symptoms and the self-care that’s needed to stay healthy, and I logically know that things will get better and I’ll be okay. I know these things. I know because I’ve been through this before, because I’ve spent a lot of time talking with people who are dealing with depression, and because I tell them the same exact things I’ve heard so many times. The only difference is that when I tell others that things will get better, I firmly believe it, but when it comes to believing those things for myself it’s not quite so easy. That is what makes depression so insidious, it robs you of the ability to maintain a healthy perspective. My mind is still working well enough to be rational and think things through in a logical way, but sometimes that’s not enough to offset the feeling of hopelessness.

I can’t imagine having to go through the hell I experienced last time I was really depressed. Yes, I survived and am stronger because of it, but would I survive again? I don’t know and I don’t want to find out. The dark thoughts are starting to creep back into my consciousness: feeling like a burden; the need to get my affairs in order; researching methods; the feeling that I need to plan. I know I shouldn’t go there but I can’t seem to push those thoughts out of my mind, so I figure out ways to keep my mind occupied. I never understood cutting; why someone would intentionally cut themselves to inflict pain. But now I do understand; physical pain is much easier to deal with than emotional pain. Thankfully none of my coping methods are self-destructive; I close myself off from my friends, which I know is not healthy and the last thing I should do; I sleep too much because I don’t want to get out of bed to deal with life; I eat too much and then I obsessively exercise because I feel bad about my body, or I go to the other extreme and don’t eat or exercise at all; I read anything I can get my hands on; and of course, I write. Hence, this column.

It’s a sobering thought to realize that I will always have to struggle with depression, to constantly be vigilant and fight to keep it at bay. Most of the time I’m up to the challenge and I know what to do in order to get through it. But then there are the times when I have trouble seeing how to get through the depression, and those are the scary times. This is one of those times.

I had written this column before the tragic shooting in Orlando. Like everyone else I feel a profound sense of grief at the loss of so many lives, and anger that our community was targeted. This time it hit close to home and feels more personal.

But it’s not just the grief over the killings, it’s also a feeling of hopelessness about the world we live in. Every time I watch the news or go on social media it’s upsetting to see how people are reacting to this. Instead of pulling together as a nation and as a community, people seem more intent of bickering and pointing fingers and spreading even more hate. And hate is what leads to these massacres. This isn’t about 2nd amendment rights or immigration laws or any of that, it’s about human decency and respect for life. But the loss of 49 lives seems to have become overshadowed by people pushing their political agendas. Every time there’s another massacre everyone gets outraged, gun control become a hot topic, people argue, but in the end nothing gets done, and innocent people continue to be killed.

Part of me feels the need to do even more to try to help, but a larger part feels hopeless and defeated. This country is broken; not just the government, but the people too. We seem incapable of coming together to do anything productive in an effort to prevent these killings from occurring over and over and over. We’ll bury our dead, point fingers, argue about gun control, and the hate will continue and then we do it all over again when the next massacre happens. It’s an ugly world we live in these days.