Is My Depression Just a Symptom of My Modern Life?
And is a change of pace or scenery the cure?
Everything is green. Rolling hills and country landscapes are all that fit within the frame. The sun is setting, it's getting cold. I'm not bothered in the slightest. All is silent but the birds, large numbers of them, a flowing stream in the distance, and the occasional gust of wind. There's not a car to be heard. Oh, and there are sheep. Lots of sheep. An odd thought crosses my mind: Am I really depressed?
Many miles away my real life awaits my inevitable return. Cars, noise, crime. Weekly stabbings on public transit, tents cleared from streets and people displaced. My daily commute, pedal-powered, each moment spent hoping the next car speeding past will do so more than a mere few inches away. An artistic practice that leaves me feeling unfulfilled and unappreciated, evenings and weekends spent working a "real job" to cover rent I can't afford anyway. I wonder again: Am I really depressed?
I grew up in the downtown core of a city that now boasts over 4 million inhabitants. I was taught from a young age to fear the world outside for the dangerous place it could be. The doors were locked day and night. I never spoke to strangers. I only played outside in a small enclosure or, on rare occasion, in a small park surrounded by concrete and under strict supervision. I was never taught to climb a mountain, appreciate a sunset, or take a walk within a quiet place to take shelter from the non-stop sounds of a busy city. Neon lit my nights. Sirens sang me to sleep.
As days turned to decades I found myself seeking comfort in the familiar, floating from city to city trying to find a sense of home. But sirens now sound like screams. Lights burn my eyes and black out the beauty of the stars. I work too hard to exist within too small an enclosure. I'm disconnected from those I live next to, on top of, and below. I'm disconnected from the food I eat. My sleep is disrupted. My physical health is in decline. My mental health...
Depression has been the working diagnosis for a number of years, through many medications, and over countless hours of counseling. I've resigned myself to the idea that there's a chemical imbalance in my brain, or that I'm the product of countless traumas and tragedies endured since my earliest days. But why is it that here I don't struggle to make it through the day? Here I'm not too busy fretting for the future or pining over the past to find joy in little more than a quiet walk alone. Here I sleep at night. Am I really depressed, or am I merely suffering the symptoms of my modern life?
There are uncharted waters ahead. I can philosophize, I can wax poetic and claim an escape from the city could cure my ails, but there's no escaping reality. Recent revelations suggest I'm more than merely depressed, but rather, living with a combination of depression, bipolar 2, and ADHD. There are decisions to make, and likely more medications and side effects to contend with. There are also many more stories to tell, but not tonight. Tonight I’m content to step outside one more time and stare at the stars. As usual, I would love your support in the form of a share, comment, or subscription. Every interaction makes me feel seen, validated, and encouraged, and hopefully helps break the stigma surrounding mental health. Thank you, each and every one of you, for all the support and encouragement so far.