May 15, 2004anhedonia [disgruntled]depression. probably the most common or popular disorder known to modern man.
in psychology, it's defined as a psychiatric disorder characterized by an inability to concentrate, insomnia, loss of appetite, anhedonia, feeling of extreme sadness, guilt, helplessness and hopelessness, and thoughts of death. also called clinical depression.
five editions of the dsm have produced a threefold increase in "disease entities" by 1994's v4.0. what hippocrates defined simply as "melancholy" is now identificable in over 300 manifestations detectable through the expression of many commonplace symptoms and characterized by often familiar behaviors. 3. freakin. 00. commonplace symptoms and familiar behaviors which are - more often than not - found in the subsequent daily routine of common man.
maybe.... just maybe.... the dsm classification offers convenient rather than convincing solutions - and has rationalised rather than reduced diagnostic chaos. longer definitions make less sense, by directing towards a circumference of blurry understandings, the more they elaborate the central point. in expanding definitions of "depression" perhaps these guidelines have helped to promote something akin to hypochondriasis, as well.
capitalism at it's finest. promote the public to believe they are fundamentally fragile, always on the verge of mortal (moral?) disease, perpetually in need of health-care professionals at every side and step, always dependent on an imagined discipline of preventative medicine..... there's really no limit on the number of offices, clinics, and hospitals requite to meet the burgeoning demand much less suck bank accounts or insurance dry (should, of course, the diagnostic category be covered in any said health plan, and amazingly trivial things are). not to mention fuel the ever-competitive pharmeceutical market.
whether you believe the theories of natural selection or the almighty creator's divine sculpting or even an alien nation's intelligent design - there's a reason we've survived thousands of years evolving into the socially cognizant creatures populating this earth.
if we were so fragile: we simply would not have survived this long.
somewhere along the way something would have kicked in and flicked the fragile, weak, useless, and fundamentally stupid part of the population out. humans are amazingly tough and durable organisms, in reality a reasonably healthy specie. we are far from ineptly put together.
in authenticating more and more diagnoses, the dsm process has helped to legitimise a dramaaaatic increase in drug use - the dominant treatment mode - for conditions that become wider and wider in scope.
prozax. xanax. welbutrin. benzodiazapenes. barbituates. amphetamines.
anxiety is now a figment of depression. anxiety. it goes along with hypermanic and unipolar mania. bipolar I. hyperthymia. euthymia. cyclothymic episodes. dysthymic episodes. bipolar II. maaaajor depressive. and let us not forget those disorders that are not classified as "normal depressive states."
jesus.
it's a bloody fucking crutch. if you're having a bad day, pop a pill and it will all be better. only difference between now and previous decades is you can get insurance to cover the temporary fix in comparison to running down to the corner for your local dealer.
if you're having a bad day, figure out wtf is wrong, and get. tf. over it.
DO something instead of wallowing in self pity. ACHIEVE a pre-ordained goal you've been endlessly frustrated with. find out what's making you struggle and find a way to work around it to get to the same freakin' result. DEAL WITH IT. quit running away and letting an emotion get the better of you. we have brains. we may only use a proverbial 10% of them on a stellar day - but we have them to use and solve problems whether it's fixing the leaky faucet or pulling ourselve outta the damned doldrums.
allright. so i have a slight intolerance for those that choose to give up. just a slight one. if i can do it, they can. if i can survive what i have and deal with what's left over, so can they. if you can't stand the heat, get out of the fucking kitchen.
thus my irritation with my own issues circumnavigating this vague definition of depression for the past few days. birthday's coming up - biorhythms, right?
mmmmhm. blame it all on the pseudoscientific theory that claims our daily lives are significantly affected by rhythmic cycles. biochronometry. circadian biological clocks. numerological testimonials, the forer effect, mass media hype, and intuition. forget scientific study - we saw where that gets us.
physical cycles. emotional cycles. intellectual cycles. intuitional cycles. aesthetic cycles. spiritual cycles. you can even do some fancy metaphysical cookery and combine the aforementioned to come up with passion, wisdom, and the almighty mastery cycle. a helluva lot of mumbo jumbo to predict what kind of day one's going to have.
theory has it that when certain points on the cycles are reached, a person may enjoy special strength or suffer special weakness.
ooooh yes. beware the critical "switch point days" when cycles cross the zero line which you can only figure out through some seriously slippery math to pinpoint what 6 out of each collection of days are just going to phenomenally SUCK.
what about a "switch point week"?
boil it down - it's just another crutch. another sordid excuse befitting today's enlightened viewpoints which discuss another temporary lapse in karmic strengths and provide the avenue for excuse. so cognizant of this and ready to formulate my own ensuing intellectual response.... the hell is wrong with me and this general schmuckery i just can't shake?
obvious reponse would be the upcoming year. 31. 30. fuckin'. 1. that's a year longer than i ever expected to make it. when i was a teenager i could not picture myself past 25, much less 30. i figured i'd be incarcerated, killed, or have found some creative way to thus kill myself by now. in any event, i would not be a functional human being reeeelatively skirting the real world as we know it. at 25 and riding the coattails of a complete and total breakdown, i really doubted it.
i lost count of the nights i came uncomfortably close to the theoretical end.
entertaining thoughts of death. *smirk* downright tangoing with said thoughts because that would be a quick and easy fix to make the noise inside my head stop. i've got enough scars on my arms from growing up a cutter i shouldn't have full mobility much less a cooperatively working circulatory system. i've had a gun in one hand and a box of bullets in the other. i've had a loaded gun in my mouth. i've od'd, though unintentional at the time. i've aimed my wrangler at a cement bridge support going 75... and if it weren't for the sudden compassionate notion that perhaps my passengers don't deserve to die concurrent with a well-aimed right hook from one particularly attentive passenger, i would have plowed right on into it.
there were nights i spent stone. cold. sober. yet hallucinating so badly i was too terrified to sleep for the next two days.
there were nights i blacked out completely. no recollection of events passed. no explanation of the injuries that somehow appeared. no excuses for why i was in a location far removed from anywhere i should have been.
i scared a lot of people who cared deeply for me. scared quite a few people who didn't care for me, but instead their own well-being. heh. friends worried. loved ones cried. i ignored my wife and family and focused completely on my inner pain. i let it's doubt consume and all but destroy me.
somewhere intolerance kicked in and i bitchslapped myself hard enough to fall out of the pathetic mental state i had spiraled down into. i was stronger than that. i won't dare claim healthier - that'd be a joke - but i wasn't going to be a weak little puke and succumb to the drama of severe depression, dependant on drugs just so i could get through my fucking day, and anything else on the therapeutic circus repetoire.
five years later i've got the scars and stories to prove i went through it. dealt with it. shook it off. survived it. y'know.... lived up to my own arrogant conceptions of a mind's ability to fix itself. that's the point of it all, right? i'm still alive. through my sheer force of will, therapy, family, and an amalgum of other helpful hands - i'm. still. alive. i should be singing praise choruses accounting each successive day as a blessing. the shining light of such a wondrous gift haloing each footstep that carries me closer towards the horizon of my years. with each breath i take i should remain aware of how i grow and expand parallel to some angelic mantle unfurled in feathers of glowing white from broad shoulders. hold my head up high. look at the world through open, thankful eyes......
instead i'm confused.... because i can't bring whatever i'm mentally chewing on into focus. everything's skippy on the outside. what's the inner malfunction? i'd fucking deal with it and get over it if i could figure it the fuck out.
yeh, been working too hard and not getting enough sleep thus becoming an entirely too destructively introspective and self-depreciating exhausted and stressed-out wolf. get some sleep and things will be clearer in the morning. right? right.
now.... what does one do when they spend all the time they're NOT working.... asleep? then any precious little time inbetween the two right pissed off at the inability to expeditiously solve this little emotional faux pas.
maybe it's just fucking pms.
Posted by Wolf at May 15, 2004 11:33 PM
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