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close encounters of the hormonal kind
I have been sad.
Usually before my period, I'm moody for several days. The mood usually has a consistent flavor for those days: one month, the mood is anger. Another, despair. Another, existential unrest. Another, extreme happiness. Most common seems to be depression and a general sense of hopelessness. This goes away, and like Mr. Bennet, I forget about it rather distressingly quick.
But this time it lasted two weeks. I feel fairly certain that it was a hormonal thing, and also fairly certain that I am over it. It began as depression and a general sense of hopelessness, but one of the unusual things about it was I kept talking about it. Talking about it! I rarely do that. What is the point of saying, "I feel pointless and lonely and utterly hopeless," if you know you're not going to feel that way in a week? You just end up worrying everyone around you.
The worst part about it was that it felt like someone else. I've heard people say this before, and I thought I knew what it meant: you don't feel like yourself because usually you're not this sad and depressed, and now that you are this sad and depressed, you don't know where it's coming from. I've felt that before! I totally have, but this was different.
It was like someone was constantly cutting onions near me. And I knew no one was cutting onions, because there wasn't the burning nose and stinging eyes, but you know how cutting onions forces you to cry, even though you don't feel sad? It's like there's a hard-wired button in your brain, and someone pushes it, and you have to cry? This was like that, only I don't cry so well so it was more like there was a hard-wired button in my brain that made me feel sad. Like, it made me feel the physical effects of sadness, but I wasn't sad.
You know when you cry and your face feels funny and your heart clenches and your throat tickles and your face crumples and you panic because you're helpless? And I mean the physical effects of panic and helplessness, not the feeling of helplessness--I mean the breathlessness and sensation that things are closing in around you and the adrenalin saying flee flee flee, like claustrophobia, like you're trapped--that's how I felt. Like all the time. Anything anyone said to me, it was like all the switches got flipped that said, "I AM GONNA FLIP OUT", except I didn't actually feel like I was gonna flip out. I felt like an alien in my own body.
In fact, it's so alien that it's far easier to talk about than how I usually feel. I mean, it wasn't me. It was an alien. And sometimes being sad is hard to talk about because what if they get worried? And then their quality of life is impacted by yours and you're just making everyone around you miserable. But in this case, it was the alien. When I'm a normal-sad, and people try to make me feel better, it's frustrating because I've thought of pretty much everything they've said before, and it doesn't make me feel better, and explaining that is difficult. But in this case there's a perfectly rational explanation! "No, you don't understand. I'm fine. It was the alien who was unwell. And now it's gone away."
This all sounds much crazier than I had intended. Obviously, I understand that it was not an alien. But I do think it had a lot to do with chemicals, and some cycles my hormones are just way worse than other times, and on top of that I'm stressed and it's Christmas etc, so I'm not particularly worried about myself. If it happens again next cycle, I'll see someone. I've seen people before. I'm actually kind of alright at knowing when I need help. I'm probably more depressed in general than I really should be, but uh, that's just kinda who I am. If it impedes my ability to function, I seek help.
I just wanted to talk about it, because it's interesting, and it's easy for me to talk about this thing that happened, and usually it isn't easy for me. So take advantage! But I also wanted to talk about an epiphany I had about suicide, but now I'm afraid people are just going to get worried, so that I can't talk about it. I mean, as soon as you say the s-word, people think: YOU HAVE NOW MOVED ON FROM WORRISOME INTO DEAD SERIOUS CALL FOR HELP! Which is very nice, that people watch over you so well and are so on their guard and want to help you!
But sometimes you don't actually need help. Sometimes you say you don't and you really do, but sometimes you really don't. I believe that. I have faith in the idea that not everyone who says the s-word is IN DANGER. But because some people are, it then becomes hard to talk about. Even talking about it being hard to talk about will worry people, because they will assume you are contemplating something that you have never contemplated, and never will. So just for the record, I'm not. And never will. But I think it's important to talk about. And it's easier just now than usual, so take advantage!
So what I wanted to say, was that for a brief moment in this craziness, I understood where people who commit suicide are coming from. What I mean is that intellectually, I've always understood that there are people who feel that life is not worth living. I understand that these people have different feelings than me, and that I am lucky that I have never felt that way.
However, I've never been able to understand, emotionally, how on Earth you could feel that way. How you could possibly not feel that thing--that thing that makes you want want want and need need need and love love love life. But what I mean is, I did understand, for a brief period of reflection, what it might be like not to have that. I still had it--all my want want want and need need need and love love love. I just mean that I could finally envision not having that.
Now I'm back to understanding suicide intellectually, but not really getting it emotionally. I just feel the will to live so strongly; I understand that some people don't have it, but I can't imagine how to feel what they feel. But for a minute I did, and it felt like one of those brief epiphanies that slides back under the waters, rarely to resurface, or only to be witnessed in glimpses.
I mention this because I think it's interesting. In fact as an intellectual curiosity. I'd like to talk about it. What makes people want to live? What makes people think they can't? I think this is why I love fiction--you can talk about all those things in the most non-worrisome of ways. So um. Hi. I was sad. Now I feel better. You can talk about being sad if you want. Or the things that make you feel better. Or aliens. I actually really like aliens.
Usually before my period, I'm moody for several days. The mood usually has a consistent flavor for those days: one month, the mood is anger. Another, despair. Another, existential unrest. Another, extreme happiness. Most common seems to be depression and a general sense of hopelessness. This goes away, and like Mr. Bennet, I forget about it rather distressingly quick.
But this time it lasted two weeks. I feel fairly certain that it was a hormonal thing, and also fairly certain that I am over it. It began as depression and a general sense of hopelessness, but one of the unusual things about it was I kept talking about it. Talking about it! I rarely do that. What is the point of saying, "I feel pointless and lonely and utterly hopeless," if you know you're not going to feel that way in a week? You just end up worrying everyone around you.
The worst part about it was that it felt like someone else. I've heard people say this before, and I thought I knew what it meant: you don't feel like yourself because usually you're not this sad and depressed, and now that you are this sad and depressed, you don't know where it's coming from. I've felt that before! I totally have, but this was different.
It was like someone was constantly cutting onions near me. And I knew no one was cutting onions, because there wasn't the burning nose and stinging eyes, but you know how cutting onions forces you to cry, even though you don't feel sad? It's like there's a hard-wired button in your brain, and someone pushes it, and you have to cry? This was like that, only I don't cry so well so it was more like there was a hard-wired button in my brain that made me feel sad. Like, it made me feel the physical effects of sadness, but I wasn't sad.
You know when you cry and your face feels funny and your heart clenches and your throat tickles and your face crumples and you panic because you're helpless? And I mean the physical effects of panic and helplessness, not the feeling of helplessness--I mean the breathlessness and sensation that things are closing in around you and the adrenalin saying flee flee flee, like claustrophobia, like you're trapped--that's how I felt. Like all the time. Anything anyone said to me, it was like all the switches got flipped that said, "I AM GONNA FLIP OUT", except I didn't actually feel like I was gonna flip out. I felt like an alien in my own body.
In fact, it's so alien that it's far easier to talk about than how I usually feel. I mean, it wasn't me. It was an alien. And sometimes being sad is hard to talk about because what if they get worried? And then their quality of life is impacted by yours and you're just making everyone around you miserable. But in this case, it was the alien. When I'm a normal-sad, and people try to make me feel better, it's frustrating because I've thought of pretty much everything they've said before, and it doesn't make me feel better, and explaining that is difficult. But in this case there's a perfectly rational explanation! "No, you don't understand. I'm fine. It was the alien who was unwell. And now it's gone away."
This all sounds much crazier than I had intended. Obviously, I understand that it was not an alien. But I do think it had a lot to do with chemicals, and some cycles my hormones are just way worse than other times, and on top of that I'm stressed and it's Christmas etc, so I'm not particularly worried about myself. If it happens again next cycle, I'll see someone. I've seen people before. I'm actually kind of alright at knowing when I need help. I'm probably more depressed in general than I really should be, but uh, that's just kinda who I am. If it impedes my ability to function, I seek help.
I just wanted to talk about it, because it's interesting, and it's easy for me to talk about this thing that happened, and usually it isn't easy for me. So take advantage! But I also wanted to talk about an epiphany I had about suicide, but now I'm afraid people are just going to get worried, so that I can't talk about it. I mean, as soon as you say the s-word, people think: YOU HAVE NOW MOVED ON FROM WORRISOME INTO DEAD SERIOUS CALL FOR HELP! Which is very nice, that people watch over you so well and are so on their guard and want to help you!
But sometimes you don't actually need help. Sometimes you say you don't and you really do, but sometimes you really don't. I believe that. I have faith in the idea that not everyone who says the s-word is IN DANGER. But because some people are, it then becomes hard to talk about. Even talking about it being hard to talk about will worry people, because they will assume you are contemplating something that you have never contemplated, and never will. So just for the record, I'm not. And never will. But I think it's important to talk about. And it's easier just now than usual, so take advantage!
So what I wanted to say, was that for a brief moment in this craziness, I understood where people who commit suicide are coming from. What I mean is that intellectually, I've always understood that there are people who feel that life is not worth living. I understand that these people have different feelings than me, and that I am lucky that I have never felt that way.
However, I've never been able to understand, emotionally, how on Earth you could feel that way. How you could possibly not feel that thing--that thing that makes you want want want and need need need and love love love life. But what I mean is, I did understand, for a brief period of reflection, what it might be like not to have that. I still had it--all my want want want and need need need and love love love. I just mean that I could finally envision not having that.
Now I'm back to understanding suicide intellectually, but not really getting it emotionally. I just feel the will to live so strongly; I understand that some people don't have it, but I can't imagine how to feel what they feel. But for a minute I did, and it felt like one of those brief epiphanies that slides back under the waters, rarely to resurface, or only to be witnessed in glimpses.
I mention this because I think it's interesting. In fact as an intellectual curiosity. I'd like to talk about it. What makes people want to live? What makes people think they can't? I think this is why I love fiction--you can talk about all those things in the most non-worrisome of ways. So um. Hi. I was sad. Now I feel better. You can talk about being sad if you want. Or the things that make you feel better. Or aliens. I actually really like aliens.
no subject
And I'm almost a little envious of your suicide epiphany. I think I had situational depression once, but I have a hard time imagining the hopeless, pointless grayness that some people with clinical depression describe. If I could do so under temporary, science fictionish conditions, I would. Well, same for a lot of things, good and bad. What does it feel like to be ___?
I'm glad you're feeling better.
no subject
I found it very difficult to talk about, though, because to say "I felt like I was about to cry" is a sentence wherein "felt" is interpreted as emotions and not physical feelings. It's interesting how the physical and the emotions are all caught up in each other like that in common parlance, such that it's hard to disentangle them from each other when talking about such things.
I didn't think of it as an alien inhabiting my body, but in retrospect that's a good analogy. But it really brought home to me just how much one's conscious brain is NOT IN CHARGE of one's body.
no subject
(Anonymous) 2013-02-17 08:05 am (UTC)(link)