We went to bed at a perfectly normal time. I was extremely sleepy. I fell asleep. I then woke up at four AM, feeling a little sick, and somewhat anxious. I must have woken up my Loveliest as well, and we talked a bit about my condition lately.
I had seen my psychiatrist earlier in the afternoon, and that, I believe, got me thinking further about how I'm doing. I came to the conclusion I had fabricated answers on the little depression/anxiety inventory they give me every visit. What I said was that I had lied on the item about having normal interest in enjoyable activities. We talked about what we could do to help me with that. Lauren suggested that I email my psychiatrist to tell her that I retrospectively wanted to change my answer. I felt guilty about it, and not being diligent with my homework. But I also believe that the stress of the semester (including events like the election) has broken me down. I felt guilty about that, then noted that it's ridiculous, because everyone gets broken down by the semester.
I proceeded not to sleep for another hour and a half. First, because I resent having to do homework, I started thinking about my general resentment of (and resistance to) medical and psychiatric surveillance. Thus, of course, I ran through an interpretation of Foucault's work on power/knowledge as a way of having us pay attention to the cost of this form of social order and civilization. Then I imagined a conversation with someone who rejects what he considers postmodern thought without clear understanding of it.
I got out of bed, walked around, sat down to read a couple pages of The Art of Happiness, and came back to bed, with my brain suddenly running through causes and instigating events of the Civil War. South Carolina's secession weighed on my mind.
I lay in bed, now trying consciously to bring about sleep, by doing what Merleau-Ponty suggested in Phenomenology of Perception: people fall asleep by imitating the behavior and situation of sleeping people. The problem then was that I couldn't figure out what people who are going to sleep think about other than causes of the Civil War.
At 5:30 I gave up and got up again. I read more of The Art of Happiness -- a book I think is an excellent choice for that trick some people do of getting up and reading for fifteen minutes when they can't sleep (ironic, isn't it?) --, glanced at a couple news items, worked a relatively unchallenging sudoku, and have been working on my sneezing.
A week ago or so, someone asked me what my plans were for the break between semesters. I think I'm going to try to learn how to sleep.
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Monday, February 27, 2012
depression is stupid - part 6
Normally, I'm a very energetic person. I teach, write, play guitar, cook, walk, ride a bicycle, and perform most other activities with tremendous intensity and vigor. I even sit and read ferociously.
When depressed, I lose almost all of my power. This is not only a terrible obstruction to getting things done, but it's a cruel insult to my sense of self. I am nothing if not intense, so if I'm not intense, it follows that I'm nothing. Logic aside, that's how it feels.
I shall first illustrate by way of music. My guitar playing is a little off, because I never really learned the things most guitar players learn, so what I do is based on a very vivid sense of alienation from music, actually. I play the guitar very much in the same vein that Ionesco wrote plays, if you dig that (and maybe three people will).
It's been impossible to play the guitar lately. I can't catch hold of the weird relationship I have to music that drives me to play and to write songs - the compulsion to make this thing do something it's not inclined to do. But there's nothing there. I hold the guitar in my hands, and I don't know what to do with it.
Cooking has been the same. I have a smattering of French and a bit of Northern Italian, and what I love to do is walk into the kitchen, decide on some fairly arbitrary course of action, and make madcap gorgeous food happen. Pork loin stuffed with fennel in a sauce Robert? Solid! How about improvising on prawns poached in court bouillon and served with a sauce of the reduced stock and cream, with chives? Okey-dokey. Whip that up.
Lately? Nix. I made black bean chili Thursday. It was the most creative I've been in the kitchen in months.
I think my definitive characteristic is ferocious, iconoclastically-bent invention. While depressed? Bupkis.
Depression is stupid. It makes my music and food stupid, too.
When depressed, I lose almost all of my power. This is not only a terrible obstruction to getting things done, but it's a cruel insult to my sense of self. I am nothing if not intense, so if I'm not intense, it follows that I'm nothing. Logic aside, that's how it feels.
I shall first illustrate by way of music. My guitar playing is a little off, because I never really learned the things most guitar players learn, so what I do is based on a very vivid sense of alienation from music, actually. I play the guitar very much in the same vein that Ionesco wrote plays, if you dig that (and maybe three people will).
It's been impossible to play the guitar lately. I can't catch hold of the weird relationship I have to music that drives me to play and to write songs - the compulsion to make this thing do something it's not inclined to do. But there's nothing there. I hold the guitar in my hands, and I don't know what to do with it.
Cooking has been the same. I have a smattering of French and a bit of Northern Italian, and what I love to do is walk into the kitchen, decide on some fairly arbitrary course of action, and make madcap gorgeous food happen. Pork loin stuffed with fennel in a sauce Robert? Solid! How about improvising on prawns poached in court bouillon and served with a sauce of the reduced stock and cream, with chives? Okey-dokey. Whip that up.
Lately? Nix. I made black bean chili Thursday. It was the most creative I've been in the kitchen in months.
I think my definitive characteristic is ferocious, iconoclastically-bent invention. While depressed? Bupkis.
Depression is stupid. It makes my music and food stupid, too.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
depression is stupid - part 5
I've mentioned my therapist several times in this space. I've had a few therapy experiences. When I was a kid, my family was in group therapy. Even prior to that, I saw the psychological counselor at my grade school a few times, during my first depressive episode, I think. In high school, I was somehow referred to an awful psychologist who had a fixed theory about adolescent development, and insisted I fit the profile he was interested in. He was worse than useless, and may have written a series of fantastically successful and terribly damaging books based on his pet theory. I saw a therapist back at UNC-Charlotte, who was excellent the first few times I saw him, but then suddenly had a revelation about his work and, like that awful jerk I saw in high school, started making everyone fit his pet theory.
I saw a student psychotherapist at Duquesne a couple times. I liked the idea of it, because Duquesne is one of very few psych PhD programs in the US that adopt a phenomenological/existentialist approach. I'm not sure how helpful that experience was to me, primarily because it was only about three sessions. She decided not to continue our sessions, and, to be candid, I think it was because we were both very attracted to one another.
Years later, here in California, miserably depressed, I called the mental health hotline that I have access to through our insurance, and they hooked me up with my therapist in Modesto. They gave me two or three names and phone numbers, and I had to call them. She was the first one I reached.
By that point, I was pretty jaded about psychotherapy. I knew I didn't want someone operating out of what is basically a behaviorist model (like the guy at UNCC, and, really, the jerk in high school). I had doubts about psychoanalysis (still do). So, in our first contact, I asked my would-be therapist about her methodology. She was taken aback. She was also a little amused at my arrogance - a theme that would repeat throughout our relationship.
In retrospect, she was deeply committed to cognitive therapy. I gotta say, cognitive therapy is stupid.
The thing is, depressives have distorted pictures of reality. We think in terms of doom, all-or-nothing options, and we repeat to ourselves messages that damage us. For instance, in a really good bout of depression, I tell myself, about 4 dozen times a day, that I'm a terrible, worthless person.
The gist of cognitive therapy is to counteract those distortions by deliberately introducing a different set of messages. My therapist had me do this by actually writing myself notes of affirmation. Whenever I heard that negative message in my head, I was supposed to pull a piece of paper out of a pocket and read it: "You're a caring person" or "You're a good teacher" or "You're kind" - crap like that.
And it is crap. It's indescribably stupid. Think about this scenario. You're miserable. You're at work, and you're fighting against crying for no reason at all. You have to go be in front of other people in a few moments, and you believe you will fail. You think you're a fraud. So, what you do is, you reach into your pocket, and there's a folded piece of paper in there that says something inane like "You do things that make the world a better place." That's supposed to make you think differently about the situation, turn off the negative messages, and give you the fortitude to go do what needs doing.
This is what's stupid about cognitive therapy, from my experience: it works.
Since cognitive therapy is that stupid, it must be the case that either I'm that stupid, or depression is that stupid. Wait, let me read this folded piece of paper. It says "You're a smart person." Obviously, then, depression is stupid.
I saw a student psychotherapist at Duquesne a couple times. I liked the idea of it, because Duquesne is one of very few psych PhD programs in the US that adopt a phenomenological/existentialist approach. I'm not sure how helpful that experience was to me, primarily because it was only about three sessions. She decided not to continue our sessions, and, to be candid, I think it was because we were both very attracted to one another.
Years later, here in California, miserably depressed, I called the mental health hotline that I have access to through our insurance, and they hooked me up with my therapist in Modesto. They gave me two or three names and phone numbers, and I had to call them. She was the first one I reached.
By that point, I was pretty jaded about psychotherapy. I knew I didn't want someone operating out of what is basically a behaviorist model (like the guy at UNCC, and, really, the jerk in high school). I had doubts about psychoanalysis (still do). So, in our first contact, I asked my would-be therapist about her methodology. She was taken aback. She was also a little amused at my arrogance - a theme that would repeat throughout our relationship.
In retrospect, she was deeply committed to cognitive therapy. I gotta say, cognitive therapy is stupid.
The thing is, depressives have distorted pictures of reality. We think in terms of doom, all-or-nothing options, and we repeat to ourselves messages that damage us. For instance, in a really good bout of depression, I tell myself, about 4 dozen times a day, that I'm a terrible, worthless person.
The gist of cognitive therapy is to counteract those distortions by deliberately introducing a different set of messages. My therapist had me do this by actually writing myself notes of affirmation. Whenever I heard that negative message in my head, I was supposed to pull a piece of paper out of a pocket and read it: "You're a caring person" or "You're a good teacher" or "You're kind" - crap like that.
And it is crap. It's indescribably stupid. Think about this scenario. You're miserable. You're at work, and you're fighting against crying for no reason at all. You have to go be in front of other people in a few moments, and you believe you will fail. You think you're a fraud. So, what you do is, you reach into your pocket, and there's a folded piece of paper in there that says something inane like "You do things that make the world a better place." That's supposed to make you think differently about the situation, turn off the negative messages, and give you the fortitude to go do what needs doing.
This is what's stupid about cognitive therapy, from my experience: it works.
Since cognitive therapy is that stupid, it must be the case that either I'm that stupid, or depression is that stupid. Wait, let me read this folded piece of paper. It says "You're a smart person." Obviously, then, depression is stupid.
Monday, February 20, 2012
depression is stupid - part 4
In November of 2010, after a brief spate of depression in October, I decided to do something crazy, just for kicks: I participated in National Novel Writing Month. The aim of this is to encourage the creative spirit, I'd say. Participants attempt to write a novel of at least 50,000 words during November, starting from scratch.
I just jumped into it. I wrote a ridiculous book: the autobiography of a character I'd invented 20-some years ago called Biff Nurfurplerberger, who is a pop music singer-songwriter. The autobiography was written by two authors, Biff and Simon Ratmason, both of whom are unreliable narrators. Several chapters, and many depictions of events, flat out contradict what is stated elsewhere. Silliness abounding. (It's called Cake, and that link sends you to the Amazon page for it.)
It was the sort of satire I've been writing since I was 10. I pulled out every trick in my book. In one chapter, maybe my favorite, Biff (I think it's Biff - it's sometimes unclear whether the text is Biff's or Simon's) describes his role in the Beatles, and his feelings about the break-up of the band. Another chapter, the existence of which is denied by the foreword to the reader (which is pretty clearly not written by either Biff or Simon, but unsigned), is about the worship of cats. I stole the text from the Catechism. (Do you get it?!?!)
It was a blast. I cackled - yes, cackled! - while writing it. I finished the 70,000 word opus in 30 days (I crossed 50k on the 15th), and never looked back. The result was exactly what I wanted it to be, and I don't think there are more than a couple dozen words I would want back. Seriously.
In 2011, I decided to try again. This time, I had a serious novel in mind. Again, it was satire, but a dark one. It was to be a slightly futuristic, dystopian novel about a world run by one corporation, where repairing anything is illegal. The corporation has a division called Quality Assurance that makes certain that products break, by having what they call Warranty Workers break into people's homes and damage their appliances.
There was absolutely no way I could complete this project, like I did Cake. The story was too complex, involving too many characters' arcs. The world I was creating had to take more time to invent. I struggled, but I got through my 50,000 words.
And I hate it. I regard it as a complete failure. To write this book - which I still think would be an excellent book - I'd need to start over again.
My expectation for myself was that I would write around 60, 70 thousand words of the same clean, shiny prose as I had for Cake. That was impossible. Cake relied on about 30 years of developing a satiric, silly voice, a flair for absurdity and cognitive dissonance. This new contraption had to be seriously written, had to be funny (in that dark way - almost the way Kafka or Beckett are funny), had to carry the story, and had to be consistent.
This really, really, can't happen with a story as complex as I had in mind.
I approached the project with an all-or-nothing attitude, which is, of course, another characteristic mental attitude of depression: if I am not totally successful, I am a total failure. (Note also that the depressive does not give himself/herself credit for any past successes.) Since I could not succeed in those terms, I counted myself a failure, and I got nothing positive from NaNoWriMo. I can't even bring myself to share the book with anyone but my Loveliest, even just to ask how to start it over again.
Setting yourself up to fail is one more way that depression is stupid.
I just jumped into it. I wrote a ridiculous book: the autobiography of a character I'd invented 20-some years ago called Biff Nurfurplerberger, who is a pop music singer-songwriter. The autobiography was written by two authors, Biff and Simon Ratmason, both of whom are unreliable narrators. Several chapters, and many depictions of events, flat out contradict what is stated elsewhere. Silliness abounding. (It's called Cake, and that link sends you to the Amazon page for it.)
It was the sort of satire I've been writing since I was 10. I pulled out every trick in my book. In one chapter, maybe my favorite, Biff (I think it's Biff - it's sometimes unclear whether the text is Biff's or Simon's) describes his role in the Beatles, and his feelings about the break-up of the band. Another chapter, the existence of which is denied by the foreword to the reader (which is pretty clearly not written by either Biff or Simon, but unsigned), is about the worship of cats. I stole the text from the Catechism. (Do you get it?!?!)
It was a blast. I cackled - yes, cackled! - while writing it. I finished the 70,000 word opus in 30 days (I crossed 50k on the 15th), and never looked back. The result was exactly what I wanted it to be, and I don't think there are more than a couple dozen words I would want back. Seriously.
In 2011, I decided to try again. This time, I had a serious novel in mind. Again, it was satire, but a dark one. It was to be a slightly futuristic, dystopian novel about a world run by one corporation, where repairing anything is illegal. The corporation has a division called Quality Assurance that makes certain that products break, by having what they call Warranty Workers break into people's homes and damage their appliances.
There was absolutely no way I could complete this project, like I did Cake. The story was too complex, involving too many characters' arcs. The world I was creating had to take more time to invent. I struggled, but I got through my 50,000 words.
And I hate it. I regard it as a complete failure. To write this book - which I still think would be an excellent book - I'd need to start over again.
My expectation for myself was that I would write around 60, 70 thousand words of the same clean, shiny prose as I had for Cake. That was impossible. Cake relied on about 30 years of developing a satiric, silly voice, a flair for absurdity and cognitive dissonance. This new contraption had to be seriously written, had to be funny (in that dark way - almost the way Kafka or Beckett are funny), had to carry the story, and had to be consistent.
This really, really, can't happen with a story as complex as I had in mind.
I approached the project with an all-or-nothing attitude, which is, of course, another characteristic mental attitude of depression: if I am not totally successful, I am a total failure. (Note also that the depressive does not give himself/herself credit for any past successes.) Since I could not succeed in those terms, I counted myself a failure, and I got nothing positive from NaNoWriMo. I can't even bring myself to share the book with anyone but my Loveliest, even just to ask how to start it over again.
Setting yourself up to fail is one more way that depression is stupid.
Friday, February 17, 2012
depression is stupid - part 3
Among my most annoying depressive symptoms is my struggle with self-worth. On any given day, I really don't have any.
One day, my therapist asked me about my self-worth. I forget the exact wording of her question, but the gist of it was to ask what the basis of my feelings of self-worth were. I couldn't really answer her at first.
Then I said I thought I was good at certain things, like teaching and cooking. I said I was intelligent and articulate. She interrupted me, and said that intelligence isn't something that you do for yourself or create for yourself, and being good at something, although you do in large measure create that for yourself, isn't intrinsic to you. She restated her question: why do you regard yourself as having worth as a person.
At this point, I got kind of frustrated, and argued, not in so many words, that my worth as a person was contingent upon my doing good or being worth a damn in the world. She responded that those were measures of others' esteem, not my own self-worth.
I still struggle with this, on two levels - practical and theoretical. (I suppose Aristotle would approve.)
Practically, having a tenuous sense of self-worth means that I'm dependent on a daily basis on others responding to me as though they value me, in order to feel good about myself. Most people who attempt to be entertaining feel this way, I believe. The vast majority of stand-up comics do, for sure: they need people to laugh with them, to assure themselves that people aren't laughing at them. The upshot of this is that bad days make me feel like I'm a bad person, not a person who had a bad day.
Theoretically, I still don't understand the concept of self-worth very well. The other day it occurred to me to distinguish self-worth from self-esteem. Self-esteem looks to me like a fairly vacuous self-boosterism, and I'm not sure what it's supposed to achieve. Do people who believe that they're always doing such good work do better work as a result? Self-worth is more a matter of having dignity and respect for oneself, and regarding oneself as worthy (sorry for the circularity; Aristotle would approve). But to my therapist's question of its basis, I'm still perplexed. I guess she had in mind something like "because I'm me, because all humans ought to have self-worth," but I'm not sure I buy that. (Too Kantian? Maybe if there was an eschatological explanation of self-worth, I'd find it more plausible.)
In any event, the problem of self-worth is yet another reason that depression is stupid.
One day, my therapist asked me about my self-worth. I forget the exact wording of her question, but the gist of it was to ask what the basis of my feelings of self-worth were. I couldn't really answer her at first.
Then I said I thought I was good at certain things, like teaching and cooking. I said I was intelligent and articulate. She interrupted me, and said that intelligence isn't something that you do for yourself or create for yourself, and being good at something, although you do in large measure create that for yourself, isn't intrinsic to you. She restated her question: why do you regard yourself as having worth as a person.
At this point, I got kind of frustrated, and argued, not in so many words, that my worth as a person was contingent upon my doing good or being worth a damn in the world. She responded that those were measures of others' esteem, not my own self-worth.
I still struggle with this, on two levels - practical and theoretical. (I suppose Aristotle would approve.)
Practically, having a tenuous sense of self-worth means that I'm dependent on a daily basis on others responding to me as though they value me, in order to feel good about myself. Most people who attempt to be entertaining feel this way, I believe. The vast majority of stand-up comics do, for sure: they need people to laugh with them, to assure themselves that people aren't laughing at them. The upshot of this is that bad days make me feel like I'm a bad person, not a person who had a bad day.
Theoretically, I still don't understand the concept of self-worth very well. The other day it occurred to me to distinguish self-worth from self-esteem. Self-esteem looks to me like a fairly vacuous self-boosterism, and I'm not sure what it's supposed to achieve. Do people who believe that they're always doing such good work do better work as a result? Self-worth is more a matter of having dignity and respect for oneself, and regarding oneself as worthy (sorry for the circularity; Aristotle would approve). But to my therapist's question of its basis, I'm still perplexed. I guess she had in mind something like "because I'm me, because all humans ought to have self-worth," but I'm not sure I buy that. (Too Kantian? Maybe if there was an eschatological explanation of self-worth, I'd find it more plausible.)
In any event, the problem of self-worth is yet another reason that depression is stupid.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
depression is stupid - part 2
A common symptom of depression is usually called something like loss of capacity to enjoy pleasurable activities. For instance, over the last few months, I have had less enjoyment from playing the guitar, from listening to music, and even from cooking.
The irony is that these are activities that I engage in not only because I enjoy them for their own sakes, but because they are calming, soothing, even meditative. They relieve stress.
Instead, I've felt like it was worthless for me to play the guitar (because I'll never be a great guitarist), and I haven't been listening much to music (because I can't ever figure out what I want to hear), and I have felt like my cooking was in a rut (because I haven't been patient or exploratory). The distorted perception related to my depressive outlook discounts the value of the activities that generally do, and generally should, make me happy, and so the prospect of them is sometimes overwhelming.
For several years, I found an hour every day to play the guitar (guitars, I suppose), but lately I practically force myself to play, sometimes just out of guilt that I own them and they just sit there taking up space. As one might well imagine, playing an instrument with that motivation is not all that enjoyable. It also doesn't lead to the best performances, which reinforces my perception that I'm so lousy at playing that it's not worth it.
My Loveliest will say that I play beautifully, that she loves to hear me play, and that what should matter is that I play because it feels good to play. This is a difficult message to understand, because I can't think about it in terms of what it does for me. Instead, I feel stressed.
So, the activities in life that I enjoy, that, in a manner of speaking, I need to enjoy, are not relieving stress, but causing it, because I am depressed, in large part because of stress.
Ergo, depression is stupid.
The irony is that these are activities that I engage in not only because I enjoy them for their own sakes, but because they are calming, soothing, even meditative. They relieve stress.
Instead, I've felt like it was worthless for me to play the guitar (because I'll never be a great guitarist), and I haven't been listening much to music (because I can't ever figure out what I want to hear), and I have felt like my cooking was in a rut (because I haven't been patient or exploratory). The distorted perception related to my depressive outlook discounts the value of the activities that generally do, and generally should, make me happy, and so the prospect of them is sometimes overwhelming.
For several years, I found an hour every day to play the guitar (guitars, I suppose), but lately I practically force myself to play, sometimes just out of guilt that I own them and they just sit there taking up space. As one might well imagine, playing an instrument with that motivation is not all that enjoyable. It also doesn't lead to the best performances, which reinforces my perception that I'm so lousy at playing that it's not worth it.
My Loveliest will say that I play beautifully, that she loves to hear me play, and that what should matter is that I play because it feels good to play. This is a difficult message to understand, because I can't think about it in terms of what it does for me. Instead, I feel stressed.
So, the activities in life that I enjoy, that, in a manner of speaking, I need to enjoy, are not relieving stress, but causing it, because I am depressed, in large part because of stress.
Ergo, depression is stupid.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
depression is stupid - part 1
I'm going to see my doctor tomorrow. This evening while vacuuming I was thinking about the cognitive therapy I had before, and how it helped me identify bad mental habits that reinforced depression - in particular the "I'm fraudulent," "I'm not worth shit," and "I'm doomed" parts.
One thing that I need in order to feel happy is social and political involvement. Getting involved in the Society for Phenomenology and Media back in 1999, and getting involved in CFA in 2002, helped me through two dark periods. In particular, CFA activism consistently restored my sense of genuine meaning, purpose, and my own value to the world.
Being in on the politics on campus helped me to understand what was going on, to see my own troubles in a context that showed I wasn't being judged on my merits, but according to a distorted, managerialist, authoritarian model of control that is experienced by the majority of faculty in the US. Learning about our working conditions from my CFA colleagues, and from the contingent faculty movement, was empowering and gave me hope.
A couple years ago, my depression and anxiety symptoms started to return, triggered in part by the last few horrible years of administrative malfeasance, hypocrisy, and greed, and in large part by the resultant increase in my job insecurity. At the same time, I became even more involved in activism, more involved in resisting the autocratic management in whatever way possible.
Much of that effort has seemed to fail, from my perspective. The autocrats remain, they hire more autocrats to carry out their bidding, and they gleefully spend education budgets on union-busting and on consultants whom they hire to figure out how to get rid of more faculty and staff. The stress I'm experiencing from all this is ridiculously high.
Thus, I have a dilemma. I have relied on this range of deep involvements in my institution and in the faculty labor movement for creating meaning and purpose in my life. Besides which, the person I am just can't sit by - I'm simply a born dissenter. On the other hand, the stress is definitely a factor in my depression and anxiety. If I reduce or eliminate those involvements, I will increase the anxiety I feel for not being involved, taking some control over my fate. If I continue, I will maintain or increase the stress that contributes to my anxiety.
My therapist would ask something at this point like, "Is it realistic to think you can control your fate, either way?" Or, "Is that the only way you can control your fate?" One or two of my friends would likely tell me to give up on the union and campus politics. While I get that, I also feel conflicted. Even just last week, a CFA meeting followed the next day by a committee meeting (on college dean evaluation) lifted me from a point where I wasn't sure I could continue going to work. Then on Tuesday of this week, a discussion in academic senate weakened my hope and resolve.
So my conclusion for now isn't that I should or shouldn't stay so deeply involved with things. It's simpler: depression is stupid.
One thing that I need in order to feel happy is social and political involvement. Getting involved in the Society for Phenomenology and Media back in 1999, and getting involved in CFA in 2002, helped me through two dark periods. In particular, CFA activism consistently restored my sense of genuine meaning, purpose, and my own value to the world.
Being in on the politics on campus helped me to understand what was going on, to see my own troubles in a context that showed I wasn't being judged on my merits, but according to a distorted, managerialist, authoritarian model of control that is experienced by the majority of faculty in the US. Learning about our working conditions from my CFA colleagues, and from the contingent faculty movement, was empowering and gave me hope.
A couple years ago, my depression and anxiety symptoms started to return, triggered in part by the last few horrible years of administrative malfeasance, hypocrisy, and greed, and in large part by the resultant increase in my job insecurity. At the same time, I became even more involved in activism, more involved in resisting the autocratic management in whatever way possible.
Much of that effort has seemed to fail, from my perspective. The autocrats remain, they hire more autocrats to carry out their bidding, and they gleefully spend education budgets on union-busting and on consultants whom they hire to figure out how to get rid of more faculty and staff. The stress I'm experiencing from all this is ridiculously high.
Thus, I have a dilemma. I have relied on this range of deep involvements in my institution and in the faculty labor movement for creating meaning and purpose in my life. Besides which, the person I am just can't sit by - I'm simply a born dissenter. On the other hand, the stress is definitely a factor in my depression and anxiety. If I reduce or eliminate those involvements, I will increase the anxiety I feel for not being involved, taking some control over my fate. If I continue, I will maintain or increase the stress that contributes to my anxiety.
My therapist would ask something at this point like, "Is it realistic to think you can control your fate, either way?" Or, "Is that the only way you can control your fate?" One or two of my friends would likely tell me to give up on the union and campus politics. While I get that, I also feel conflicted. Even just last week, a CFA meeting followed the next day by a committee meeting (on college dean evaluation) lifted me from a point where I wasn't sure I could continue going to work. Then on Tuesday of this week, a discussion in academic senate weakened my hope and resolve.
So my conclusion for now isn't that I should or shouldn't stay so deeply involved with things. It's simpler: depression is stupid.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
a little help from my friends
Thanks, everyone.
Elizabeth, whom I believe I know through the kind auspices of Sharon and Dave's famous annual cocktail party, suggested a connection between depression, fear, and capitalism. I'm not super hip to Marxist analyses of the phenomenon we call depression, and with regard to myself, a psychiatric account makes so much sense it's hard for me to see past it. I mean, I was first depressed when I was 9. No kidding.
Yes, even 9 year olds raised in capitalist society experience its contradictions. I think what I mean is that the obvious effects of capitalist economics on my life have grown a lot stronger and more direct since then.
I have no doubt that this recent bout has something to do with the constant assault of the people pushing the corporate/privatized/Friedmanized university (and society). "Torture" may be a gross exaggeration of their way of treating people, but otherwise, their behavior is captured awfully well by Naomi Klein's thesis in The Shock Doctrine (as many in CFA have pointed out). The creation and exploitation of crisis, and the constant application of techniques to undermine my ability to understand the reality of my situation, play very well into my own psychiatric condition. After all, one of our administrators did research on fear as a marketing tool.
(By the way, in my National Novel Writing Month project this year, the Marketing Division of the Corporation is not only the investigative wing, but also arranges torture - i.e., "focus groups" - but also assassinations, in an effort to thwart the underground movement of people who repair things rather than throw them out and buy new ones.)
Lauren was pointing out just the other day how our society trains everyone to imagine that their economic fates are their own doing, and how this ideology really helps the corporate capitalist elite seem to be meritorious, despite their being constantly rewarded for failing. To a certain extent, I fall into that too, blaming myself for my failures in academia, when that's largely discredited by a more objective analysis - say, just pointing out that 75% of faculty that we can count in the US are non-tenure-track faculty.
(Another random aside: I feel like I know and have known a suspiciously large number of people named Elizabeth or Leigh, or versions thereof.)
Elizabeth, whom I believe I know through the kind auspices of Sharon and Dave's famous annual cocktail party, suggested a connection between depression, fear, and capitalism. I'm not super hip to Marxist analyses of the phenomenon we call depression, and with regard to myself, a psychiatric account makes so much sense it's hard for me to see past it. I mean, I was first depressed when I was 9. No kidding.
Yes, even 9 year olds raised in capitalist society experience its contradictions. I think what I mean is that the obvious effects of capitalist economics on my life have grown a lot stronger and more direct since then.
I have no doubt that this recent bout has something to do with the constant assault of the people pushing the corporate/privatized/Friedmanized university (and society). "Torture" may be a gross exaggeration of their way of treating people, but otherwise, their behavior is captured awfully well by Naomi Klein's thesis in The Shock Doctrine (as many in CFA have pointed out). The creation and exploitation of crisis, and the constant application of techniques to undermine my ability to understand the reality of my situation, play very well into my own psychiatric condition. After all, one of our administrators did research on fear as a marketing tool.
(By the way, in my National Novel Writing Month project this year, the Marketing Division of the Corporation is not only the investigative wing, but also arranges torture - i.e., "focus groups" - but also assassinations, in an effort to thwart the underground movement of people who repair things rather than throw them out and buy new ones.)
Lauren was pointing out just the other day how our society trains everyone to imagine that their economic fates are their own doing, and how this ideology really helps the corporate capitalist elite seem to be meritorious, despite their being constantly rewarded for failing. To a certain extent, I fall into that too, blaming myself for my failures in academia, when that's largely discredited by a more objective analysis - say, just pointing out that 75% of faculty that we can count in the US are non-tenure-track faculty.
(Another random aside: I feel like I know and have known a suspiciously large number of people named Elizabeth or Leigh, or versions thereof.)
Thursday, March 03, 2011
need a break
Well, ladies and gentlemen, Doc Nagel is in a bad way. I blame a large part of this on the confluence of recent events - the department tenure-track search, looming budget cuts to the CSU (yet again), daily news of the unconscionable exercise of power. I blame another large part on the unrelenting propaganda demonizing organized labor, in particular in public higher education. It feels lately as if everything I care about is threatened or under attack. No exaggeration: the ideal of education, my own job, my loveliest, the cat, my favorite hockey team...
On the other hand, obviously the largest part of my terrible, doomed mood is sui generis. Everything I care about seems to be under attack because I feel truly terrible about myself these days. A few people who regularly read this have known me long enough to know that that had been a constant until Lauren came into my life. And although it is very hard to feel terrible about myself with her around, somehow I'm managing it.
For me, this often takes the form of a sort of voice constantly telling me the same thing, no matter what happens: "You're a terrible person." I've checked a book out of the university library, but it's been sitting on my shelf unread. "That's because you're a terrible person." A class session went poorly. "That's because you're a terrible person." A class session went well. "That doesn't change the fact that you're a terrible person." I committed a typo in an email I sent. "That's because you're a terrible person."
It gets old after a while.
But hey, do you wanna know why I get depressed, and why I feel this way despite how wonderful Lauren is, and how basically good life is right now? I'll give you a hint: It's because I'm a terrible person. That's what I've heard, anyway.
Taking a break from this is kind of a weird task, because this delightful partner in dialogue is, of course, me. (Hey, wanna know why I'm so cruel to myself? I'll give you a hint...)
On the other hand, obviously the largest part of my terrible, doomed mood is sui generis. Everything I care about seems to be under attack because I feel truly terrible about myself these days. A few people who regularly read this have known me long enough to know that that had been a constant until Lauren came into my life. And although it is very hard to feel terrible about myself with her around, somehow I'm managing it.
For me, this often takes the form of a sort of voice constantly telling me the same thing, no matter what happens: "You're a terrible person." I've checked a book out of the university library, but it's been sitting on my shelf unread. "That's because you're a terrible person." A class session went poorly. "That's because you're a terrible person." A class session went well. "That doesn't change the fact that you're a terrible person." I committed a typo in an email I sent. "That's because you're a terrible person."
It gets old after a while.
But hey, do you wanna know why I get depressed, and why I feel this way despite how wonderful Lauren is, and how basically good life is right now? I'll give you a hint: It's because I'm a terrible person. That's what I've heard, anyway.
Taking a break from this is kind of a weird task, because this delightful partner in dialogue is, of course, me. (Hey, wanna know why I'm so cruel to myself? I'll give you a hint...)
Sunday, October 18, 2009
depressed? oppressed?
On Friday I was talking with a friend on campus about my lack-of-employment prospects at the university. As happens, the topic of the general condition of the university came up. My friend said the university is suffering from depression.
This struck me two conflicting ways. On the one hand, it's as good a diagnosis as any for the overall malaise and incredibly low morale among faculty and staff. Budget cuts, hostile relations between administration and other constituencies on campus, strategic efforts to divide and to cast a pall of doubt, confusion, and mistrust - all of this has had the predictably effect of making most people who are aware of the situation despair. In public meetings about the situation, most faculty and staff are dumbstruck. No, strike that. Most faculty and staff don't go to these public meetings, because most of them, though aware of the terrible straits we're in, are paralyzed with fear, or with whatever it is that convinces them to keep blinders on, do their work, and imagine that their quiet acquiescence will keep them safe.
They do what they do because they feel they have to do it, to avoid the repercussions they have heard of or witnessed others suffering for standing up a little. This makes sense, because most people don't want to be yelled at by people with more power than they have, and almost no one really wants to be fired. Subjectively, they may not feel themselves to be depressed at all - nor perhaps fearful, over-stressed, or over-worked.
But if we accept the premise that an organization can have a general level of well-being, and that, as a complex system, it can have a set of attributes constituted by the interactions of its members, then the university could be depressed, even if a handful of individual faculty or staff (or administrators) aren't depressed themselves - and more to the point, even if they don't recognize the organization's depression.
I ran a quick Google search this morning trying to find something cogent written about this phenomenon, with no real luck. (I'm not particularly interested in organizational change in response to the Great Depression, for instance.) What I did find was a checklist of symptoms, causes, and treatments written by a "corporate coach," which in many respects doesn't apply to universities.
That led to my second reaction, which is to remember that the whole notion of a corporate organization having attributes of this sort is linked to the ideology of the corporation being a person - that dangerous legal fiction so central to US corporate law.* Diagnosing the university as depressed, taking that systematic view, psychologizing and even medicalizing the situation, shifts this discourse in ways that are a little disturbing. For one thing, they offer a rationale for avoiding political confrontation that might in the end be our best hope.
What if, unlike human beings suffering depression, this diagnosis misidentifies what is better called oppression? The two conditions call for two very different reactions, I believe. Depression calls for treatment - pharmaceutical, cognitive, psychotherapeutic, electro-shock, instituionalization,... - to make the patient better. Depression treatments in the capitalist medical context are inextricably linked to an ideology of individual responsibility and productivity, in service to capital accumulation. Why cure it for the sake of maintaining the status quo of economic and political relations? Oppression calls for resistance, developing solidarity and power, direct action and regime change.
I suppose most oppressed people suffer depression. But a lot is at stake in identifying whether the cause is institutional "depression" or political oppression.
*(And now, part of me is considering the ways in which the human person is an anthropocentric fiction which is employed across many disciplines for assigning attributes, especially praiseworthy and blameworthy ones, to the complex organizations we are. For an individual human person, depression is a felt subjective condition and orientation to the world, but it's not clear to me that the neurons and chemical reactions in my brain experience themselves as depressed, and I'm not sure what it means to the teeming bacteria throughout my body or the cells of my body which are not entirely genetically my own.)
This struck me two conflicting ways. On the one hand, it's as good a diagnosis as any for the overall malaise and incredibly low morale among faculty and staff. Budget cuts, hostile relations between administration and other constituencies on campus, strategic efforts to divide and to cast a pall of doubt, confusion, and mistrust - all of this has had the predictably effect of making most people who are aware of the situation despair. In public meetings about the situation, most faculty and staff are dumbstruck. No, strike that. Most faculty and staff don't go to these public meetings, because most of them, though aware of the terrible straits we're in, are paralyzed with fear, or with whatever it is that convinces them to keep blinders on, do their work, and imagine that their quiet acquiescence will keep them safe.
They do what they do because they feel they have to do it, to avoid the repercussions they have heard of or witnessed others suffering for standing up a little. This makes sense, because most people don't want to be yelled at by people with more power than they have, and almost no one really wants to be fired. Subjectively, they may not feel themselves to be depressed at all - nor perhaps fearful, over-stressed, or over-worked.
But if we accept the premise that an organization can have a general level of well-being, and that, as a complex system, it can have a set of attributes constituted by the interactions of its members, then the university could be depressed, even if a handful of individual faculty or staff (or administrators) aren't depressed themselves - and more to the point, even if they don't recognize the organization's depression.
I ran a quick Google search this morning trying to find something cogent written about this phenomenon, with no real luck. (I'm not particularly interested in organizational change in response to the Great Depression, for instance.) What I did find was a checklist of symptoms, causes, and treatments written by a "corporate coach," which in many respects doesn't apply to universities.
That led to my second reaction, which is to remember that the whole notion of a corporate organization having attributes of this sort is linked to the ideology of the corporation being a person - that dangerous legal fiction so central to US corporate law.* Diagnosing the university as depressed, taking that systematic view, psychologizing and even medicalizing the situation, shifts this discourse in ways that are a little disturbing. For one thing, they offer a rationale for avoiding political confrontation that might in the end be our best hope.
What if, unlike human beings suffering depression, this diagnosis misidentifies what is better called oppression? The two conditions call for two very different reactions, I believe. Depression calls for treatment - pharmaceutical, cognitive, psychotherapeutic, electro-shock, instituionalization,... - to make the patient better. Depression treatments in the capitalist medical context are inextricably linked to an ideology of individual responsibility and productivity, in service to capital accumulation. Why cure it for the sake of maintaining the status quo of economic and political relations? Oppression calls for resistance, developing solidarity and power, direct action and regime change.
I suppose most oppressed people suffer depression. But a lot is at stake in identifying whether the cause is institutional "depression" or political oppression.
*(And now, part of me is considering the ways in which the human person is an anthropocentric fiction which is employed across many disciplines for assigning attributes, especially praiseworthy and blameworthy ones, to the complex organizations we are. For an individual human person, depression is a felt subjective condition and orientation to the world, but it's not clear to me that the neurons and chemical reactions in my brain experience themselves as depressed, and I'm not sure what it means to the teeming bacteria throughout my body or the cells of my body which are not entirely genetically my own.)
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