Crippling Anhedonia 1

The point of life as I see it, as least as far as not on some existential stuff, is to find something to do with most of your time. Even with work and taking care of general needs, there is going to be time to fill. The hardest part of depression is filling these times through the crippling anhedonia.

an·he·do·ni·a/ˌanhēˈdōnēə/
Noun: Inability to feel pleasure.

The worst part of depression isn't the sadness. Emotions are fleeting, and even the lowest depression doesn't cloud this. There are actual bursts of happiness throughout most days. The physical symptoms aren't really that bad either. They suck, but they are also the first to be alleviated by medication. Two weeks is the time most anti-depressants take to work. In reality, the sleeplessness, appetite, fatigue, etc. start to get better nearly immediately. Two weeks and the sadness is gone.

It's the fucking anhedonia that will kill you.

One of the official symptoms of depression is suicidality, or thoughts of death and suicide. In my experience, suicide is a secondary symptom at most, and more realistically a result of other symptoms. My first attempt was at seventeen, when I tried to take a turn in my car at eighty, and mostly straight. It wasn't the most well-reasoned way of going about it, and a deer jumping out startled me enough that I swerved and walked away no worse for wear.

Filling time is hard when you can't enjoy anything. Four different anti-depressants, a mood stabilizer, and an anti-psychotic haven't given me the relief found in booze, weed, or a bit of speed.

I actually had the rest worked on, but I got too drunk. Part 2 tomorrow.