Altered State
At the age of five, fresh off being sent home from kindergarten for reasons that I no longer remember, I walked into the office of a strange lady. There was nothing abnormal the lady herself but it was slightly confusing that this “doctor’s appointment” consisted of me answering questions about school and playing board games. I guess it was preferable to getting another shot from Dr. Raffles. A few years and more suspensions later, I’d walk into the office of another strange lady who introduced me to the game of Stratego and would also ask me questions about school. I was having problems wetting the bed at the time and my parents had tried everything. I even remember having to wear this weird device that had an alarm that would sound if it detected any urine. So when the doctor told me I was starting some new medicine that would also prevent me from wetting the bed, seven or eight year old me didn’t give much thought to the news. For over ten years, I took that new medication. Naturally, the bed-wetting had subsided by then but each night I took those pills with no thought as to the true purpose of my regular prescription. And then in eighth grade, the cruel truth revealed itself.
The perception of depression in modern American society is that its nature is ephemeral. This misconception of depression is often what leads to the stigmatization of what is more properly known a major depressive disorder, or as it was introduced to me in front of my terrified mother, clinical depression. The societal belief in depression’s transience is dangerous for those of us that have been diagnosed with clinical depression for one simple reason: The natural state of those who suffer from major depressive disorder is a tendency towards depression. While this is an oversimplification, those who suffer from the disorder do so because their natural neurological state has the requisite composition to trigger a bout of depression in the presence of the correct environmental and social factors. Consequently, an eighth grader who inexplicably felt life was no longer worth living discovered that in reality life was fine but that his brain had betrayed him.
The mind is a powerful tool but is susceptible to manipulation and distortion and in those weaknesses lies the true power of depression. Often misconstrued as a period of deep sadness, depression is much more malevolent. It places its victims in a pessimistic, yet plausible alternate reality in which one’s mind attempts to subvert any notion of hope. Unless the victim understands the consequences of depression, it is likely neither they nor the people interacting with the victim will understand that the one afflicted with depression is having their perception of reality altered by some bizarre Jedi mind trick. There are many times and places where you would like to make such an actionable discovery; MIT is not one of those places.
At some point in time during my first two and half years at MIT, I stopped taking my medicine. In retrospect, this was a clearly insane decision that was made consensually between my doctor and myself. By the time this decision was made, I was already getting destroyed in my coursework. By the end of sophomore year, I was already waist deep in my life’s climactic bout of depression. Despite an absolutely incredible summer in Boston, I still dreaded the upcoming fall like none before it. As the water level continued to rise, I became more insular, spoke less about my doubts, and pressed onwards in an attempt to salvage a semester that was quickly spiraling out of control. And then one night, in front of a Design and Analysis of Algorithms problems set, I just gave up. I started to drink cough syrup, slipped into delirium, and ranted to my buddy about my utter worthlessness. That once again, like in eighth grade, I no longer found life worth living.
It takes a certain lack of sanity to suggest that ending up in a mental hospital for two and half weeks would be on the short list of best things that ever happened in your life. Yet, here we are. On being admitted, one of the first things I did was crack open the Word and I did this for the first four or five days. This started my long-term trend of genuine interest in the Word and by extension prayer and meditation. Big Dub flew out from Detroit and would visit me every day. My now current roommate and our close friends stopped by twice. Two of my floormates came and watched football with me. I have often struggled expressing my love for the friends and family I have in my life. This was especially true before I was hospitalized. In the midst of these visitors and phone calls from visitors, an employee pulled me aside and uttered the words that would radically change how I perceived myself and my depression: “I read your story because I have never seen so many people visit someone here at this hospital. I understand that depression messes with you and it’s not your fault. But I really want you to think about your life and ask yourself: are going believe how your brain sees you or how these people see you?” For the first time in my life, I acknowledged the reality that in the absence of medication, my brain was an enemy combatant. It is difficult to acknowledge one’s flaws especially when they are stigmatized by the greater populace. But acceptance is a critical component of recovery; you can’t solve a problem you don’t accept exists.
Yet sometimes, you discover a problem of which you were never aware and it shines a new light on prior experiences. This was the experience I had recently when I was officially diagnosed with ADD. Suddenly, the childhood trips to the doctor’s office made more sense. The staring aimlessly into space when I should be doing homework made more sense. The vicious cycle of spacing out and reading the same passages repeatedly made sense. But most stunning of all was the realization that my dark bout of depression was a result of the consequences of my inattentiveness and literal inability to focus. The past could no longer be changed but the future could certainly be improved.
I don’t know if my brain has anymore tricks and intricacies up its sleeve. I sure hope not. However, I know that my tale while unique is not abnormal. Millions of people live in this country with some sort of mental illness, many of which go untreated. Many of these people live seemingly functional and productive lives. They cannot even begin to imagine how much their illness affects their productivity and quality of life because they don’t realize their reality has been altered. Seeing the full picture, the actual reality, it’s something I don’t believe anyone, myself included, can do alone. All of us affected by depression need the appropriate infrastructure in order to boldly and successfully fight this illness. Mental health professionals, friends, and family are paramount to our long-term success. This is why I want to close with thanking my friends, family, teachers, and everyone who allowed me to stand on their shoulders as I embarked on this journey of really understanding my brain. I would not be in the position to write this post without your help!