Tangibly So

I once tried explaining to a therapist what depression felt like to me. Often, for me, it is a very physical, almost tangible-feeling thing. It’s a cloud in my head. And I don’t mean just a metaphorical “cloud of darkness” I mean it’s almost like a physical presence. My head feels different--thick, with a heavy sort of fuzzy energy that just weighs down my thoughts and feelings even when I have absolutely nothing to be sad about. It’s not about thinking happy thoughts. I can be having the most fun, be with the best people, and loving life. At least on a rational, logical, thinking level. But right above those thoughts and feelings is that weight of dark fuzzy, cloudiness in my head that just seems to squish and squash all the other feelings until I can’t actually enjoy them. I may have a smile on my face because I am happy, but behind it, I can feel the happiness immediately starting to die faster than it should. And part of me is panicking because I know the feeling will be gone the second the stimuli is gone. I can’t hold on to anything because it gets squashed. I can’t leave a friends house and be happy. I’m sad the second I walk out the door. Sometimes that makes me desperate to find the next thing that will make me smile so that I can hold on to the feeling just a little longer. Sometimes it makes me want to give up so I don't have to deal with the roller coaster. Sometimes I’m more aware of it than other times, sometimes it sneaks up on me, but I wish I could fully explain just how physical of an experience it feels like to me. Because I know that saying “I feel like there’s a cloud in my head” doesn’t communicate much.

My therapist at the time told me that she believed that made it more likely that antidepressants would help. And when I started taking them, I remember feeling the cloud slowly shrink. It’s not like my life magically got better. The actual issues didn’t magically improve. The actual reasons to be sad were still there. But the cloud was gone. It slowly shrunk until I felt like I could be a normal person. Sadness and happiness both existed. But I could hold onto both feelings instead of just one.

Well, something I realized fairly recently is that anxiety is sort of like this too for me. It’s an energy in my head that I can tangibly feel. But instead of being a weight, it’s chaos. It’s a cloud, but like butterflies in my stomach, except it’s in my head. It’s this buzzing, restless energy that makes me unable to feel calm, like restless leg syndrome. Sometimes, but not always, my heart starts to race or my breathing feels affected. It’s an energy that gives a sense of urgency and legitimacy to every negative or anxious thought that pops up. I can’t do anything to make that cloud go away. I can’t think happy thoughts, or sit there and reassure myself that whatever anxious thoughts I may or may not be having aren’t legitimate. I can’t sit there and chant calming self-confidence mantras. Because that’s not the core issue.

The instigating issue is the cloud in my head. My whole body ends up feeling anxious, whether there is anything to feel anxious about or not. Whether I’m thinking about anything in particular or not. I can logically be feeling like everything is fine in the world, but my body disagrees. The best thing for me in this case is to be around people I think. I find friends naturally calming. It doesn’t necessarily make the cloud go away. Just makes it easier to war with. At home, alone, I end up feeling so distracted by the cloud in my head, the anxious energy gives me little room to focus on anything else. Which sometimes leads to depressive states because I tend to feel less than worthwhile. Sometimes when it’s bad I start having the urge to cut myself to distract myself from what’s happening in my brain. And I do mean urge. Almost like an addiction. The residual pain becomes a distraction I can rely on when I feel like I don't have anything else to rely on. And I don't have to burden anyone else with it to deal. It's a red flag that my anxiety is becoming unmanageable. In public settings I try to provide myself with a physical stimuli like rubbing my palm or squeezing my arm to distract from what's happening in my head. It doesn't do much beyond keeping the feeling from escalating, but I do it anyway. External stimuli like someone else touching my back seems to work better, but I don't generally feel comfortable asking.

Sometimes it can be like the depression cloud and it feels like it’s trying to squash any confidence I have about my relationships or interactions with people. With people I don’t know well, I end up just feeling anxious, because I can’t hold onto any of the positive stimuli in our interactions. It slips away too fast. But some people send stronger signals of affirmation than others and I can hold onto the feeling longer. Or they're more consistent in their follow-through which gives them more traction. And the more I get to know people, the more I can hold onto the feeling of peace and surety I feel when interacting with them. But that feeling may still slip away the second I’m not looking directly at their face anymore. But if I know someone well enough, they can eventually be immune to the effects the cloud has on my confidence in relationships. That doesn’t mean the cloud goes away, just, the doubts that sometimes creep up with it. Maybe this is partially why I like having hard conversations with people. Because once I’ve had the verbal confirmation for the worst case scenarios in my head, I can use that as physical, tangible evidence to use against the feelings happening in my head even if my body remains the same.

And yet the cloud remains regardless. I really dislike when people talk about anxiety or depression as something you can will away with happy thoughts because that has just not been my experience. Or the response "I don't have that issue, I just think positively." Not helpful. Sure, it can sometimes help with the actual mental portion of it. But not the physical feeling remaining in my head and body. I am not my anxiety or depression. They are not part of my personality. And yet there they are. And I hate that to other people, they are part of who I am. But also, I am grateful for the people who accept me as I am.