When self-medication doesn’t lend a helping hand, and in fact, only seems to intensify the symptoms, the curious mind then lurches forward and attempts self-diagnosis. Professionals are useless. They are motivated by agendas, fees, and “schools of thought” which they depend on in order to cement their pre-fabricated diagnoses. I think I may create my own informal DSM category. Perhaps it’s not too late to add to 2013’s “-V” edition.
The past week I’ve teetered on the precarious edge of apathy violently blended with extreme doses of antagonism. Lots of antagonism against everything and everybody. I’m like a rebellious teen-aged punk rocker cast in the body of a middle-aged disaffected loner. The psychologically trained “professional” may automatically default to the “depression” cop-out at first glance. Let’s look at the putative depression symptoms which I’ve grabbed from The National Institute of Mental Health’s website. The same symptoms are essentially parroted at most other medical sites.
Persistent sad, anxious, or “empty” mood.
Feelings of hopelessness or pessimism.
Feelings of guilt, worthlessness, or helplessness.
Loss of interest or pleasure in hobbies and activities that were once enjoyable, including sex.
Decreased energy, fatigue; feeling “slowed down.”
Difficulty concentrating, remembering, or making decisions.
Trouble sleeping, early morning awakening, or oversleeping.
Changes in appetite and/or weight.
Thoughts of death or suicide, or suicide attempts.
Restlessness or irritability.
Persistent physical symptoms, such as headaches, digestive disorders, and chronic pain that do not respond to routine treatment.
The red/bold items are the ones I’ve experienced the past week.
I always think of death. This is a normal part of my emotional make-up. Big deal, nothing to see there. That early morning awakening crap is also normal for me but I’ve been struck by it a couple of times, most likely due to the self-medication gone awry. My “empty pessimism” is generally unusual but not unheard of. Still, I have been dealing with that couplet of emotions most of the week. All in all, I would hardly call this “depression” in the clinically desperate respect.
I’m battling a faint trace of malaise, and diffuse disgust pervades my existence. I feel very estranged from society and I believe this leads to a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy because people can sense my revulsion in their emptily civilized hind-brains and probably feel slightly repulsed by my presence though they cannot quite put their finger on it. So it’s an endless feedback loop of perceived disinterest that I greet with further antagonism. A perpetual motion machine of misery!
See, this is not depression so much as it is better described as apathy and frustration married in a self-destructive water/oil union of alienation. I’m generally irritated by everything and everyone right now, but I’m mired in an enveloping pit of obligatory interactions which further enhance and doll up my alienation. The awareness that I am stuck in this pit causes me to shut down when the stimulus becomes too intense and prolonged. Human stupidity and ignorance come to life like little hellish Lovecraftian creatures intent on slurping my brains through my orifices through piercing crack-proof Funny Straws. My existence is a fellatioed quagmire of nails and arrows and I curl up into a self-contained, shit-repellent ball of ironclad introspection. By not wanting, I victor over doubt.
This morning’s workout log does not convey just how intensely I despised lifting any weights. Those iron plates likewise assumed the hardened and relentless shapes of another simultaneous ejection of spawn from the Lovecraftian Demon Generating Machine whose sole mission is to torment me.
Bad “mental workout.” My halfhearted scrawls scream antagonism and apathy. Mental fortitude is as important as form when weightlifting. If you don’t gather your muscular forces properly and uniformly, a function of timing and concentration, your workout is adversely affected to the same degree that bad form also sabotages your purported muscle-building goals. My workout was gutted due to my lack of mental astuteness this morning. Bad workouts lead to exhilarating frustration. Which leads to further dissatisfaction.
My self-diagnosis of NDAS is based in part on the fact I don’t meet the minimum threshold of depression symptoms co-existing with the indicator that self-medication has only hampered alleviation of my symptoms which in turn adversely blunt my affect. Significantly, however, is the observation that much of the anomie plaguing me is owing to the pernicious presence of people in all their idiotic, ignorant, vain and capricious wonderment in my life. I affix my flagellating mind to this plethora, this swamp, of distasteful human traits and my psyche is thus trampled into the dusty chalkboard of the dirt road by hooves of wild human caricatures.
I believe my condition is also exacerbated by the garbage that is embraced by hordes of summer movie watchers. You can gauge the relevance of our culture by what disguises itself as “entertainment.”