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By Charlene Rubush, March 8, 2011 11:09 pm

It’s Difficult to Recognize That You Are Clinically Depressed

One of the most dangerous aspects of being in the midst of a clinical depression is the fact that you are generally, incapable of self-diagnosis.

In my last post, I wrote about how I was affected, once I descended into a deep depression. As I look back now at that event of over twenty years ago, I’m amazed that I survived it.

Too weak and out of it, to rise from my bed and do my daily routine, I was basically defenseless. If someone had broken into my home, I would have been easy prey.

Thankfully and blessedly, I had a family and a boyfriend who eventually (after months) realized that I needed professional help.

The boyfriend literally carried me from my bed, to see a hematologist. There was a brief consultation with the doctor. I was able to tell him of my fairly recent divorce from my ex-husband, a Vietnam Marine Corps combat vet.

I numbly explained that my ex, after a nineteen year marriage, had decided he needed to be free. His decision came after seeing the film Platoon, having a major meltdown, and exhibiting bizarre behavior. I had gone to the Veterans Outreach Center to get help for the incredible stress and fear I was enduring.

No sooner had the ink dried on my divorce papers, than they kicked me out of counseling. Right when I needed it most! (I now believe the anger I felt over that rejection, greatly contributed to my depression. Depression is often called frozen anger.)

The doctor ran a series of blood tests. I was certain he would come back to the room I was in, and pronounce that I was severely anemic.

To my surprise, he stated that my bloodwork showed no abnormalities. “I believe you are depressed,” he said with great concern. “From what you’ve told me, you’ve been through a lot in recent years. I’m going to put you on an antidepressant and see how you do.”

This was the breakthrough I needed. Within a couple of weeks, I started regaining some of my lost strength. I would have a long way to go, but I was finally on the long, slow path to healing my mind, my body, and my spirit.

I can only imagine what might happen to someone experiencing a clinical depression without concerned friends or family around. I pray all of you who have a similar experience have a least one person who may be there for you when you really need it. It may be the difference between living and just existing, or even life and death.

Today, I’m grateful for the life I have and appreciative for the help I’ve received. I could easily have been just another statistic. It happens way too often.

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By Charlene Rubush, January 24, 2011 12:13 am

In this blog post I’ll explore the experience of depression. Sometimes I wonder, especially considering the state of the world, why everyone isn’t depressed. But then again, living in depression is no way to live. The human spirit asks us to rise above it.

Depression comes in many forms. A low-grade depression can haunt someone for years, without totally disrupting one’s life. But when a clinical depression descends upon an individual, all bets are off.

An episode of clinical depression can permanently alter someone’s life, and in the worst case scenario, even end it.  

Years ago, when I was growing up in the 50’s and 60’s, there was very little talk of depression. In those days, one who had a clinical depression was said to have experienced a nervous breakdown. There was a lot of shame and stigma attached to the illness. Often it was spoken of in hushed tones. Thank goodness we’ve (mostly) moved beyond that.

I never dreamed I would descend into a clinical depression. I thought I was too strong for that. But as we now know, personal strength and integrity have nothing to do with it. A serious depressive episode is generally brought on by a multitude of factors, and events.

My experience with clinical depression went like this:

 “One day I simply couldn’t get out of bed. My head weighed a million pounds. My body was super-glued to the mattress. A small, distant voice whispered, ‘You’ve got to get up. Go to work. Take care of your daughter.’ But the voice was too far away. And I was already gone.

Looking back, so much of it is a complete blur. Months and months glued to that bed. When I tried and failed to lift my head, a thought came. I must be anemic. Badly anemic.

In my next post, I’ll continue on this theme, and share what I believe caused my dangerous depression. It has everything to do with the Vietnam War, living with untreated combat-related PTSD, and an experience with the VA.

Perhaps you’ll be able to relate. Stay tuned to learn how I climbed out of the abyss, and how you or a loved one, might too.

……….