@mass_pike4 All the mental illnesses have a genetic component. In fact, most of the mental illnesses, if not all, share at least one allele. So they may be more closely related than we had thought—perhaps they are all variations on a theme.
I’m bipolar. I have a couple of cousins and an uncle on my father’s side that I know are bipolar. I have an aunt and a second cousin or something on my mother’s side who are bipolar. Most bipolar people can find an ancestor with something strange going on within the last two generations.
@Trillian I’m obviously not a clinician or anything, so take what I say with a grain of salt. I suspect you are not clinically depressed. I’m sure you are depressed, but from what little you say, I’m guessing your depression is more situational. Of course, if there’s more that I don’t know, I’ll look pretty stupid. Oh well.
The real reason I say this is because I think your s/o’s behavior would be much more understandable to you if you were non-situationally depressed.
”He refused all help and deliberately made choices that made his life worse and worse.”
That’s what depressed people do. That’s what depression is. You don’t feel like you are worth helping. You can’t understand why other people don’t see that. So you push them away. You want things to get worse and worse, because that is the only way you can make sense out of what you feel.
When I was depressed, it made no sense. I felt awful, and yet my life was a good life. The more depressed I got, the less sense it made, and I started pushing people away, and trying to destroy my life. I didn’t do it consciously, it’s just that I felt so bad and I couldn’t let anyone help me or try to make me feel better.
I wanted to feel better. I wanted to be loved. Yet I couldn’t allow it. In my case, I kept on pushing until the very edge and then some self-preserving impulse kept me from pushing any further. I didn’t really want to die, but I couldn’t see how it could work out any other way. I couldn’t stand the idea of being in that kind of pain forever, and no matter how many shrinks told me it would end, it sure didn’t feel that way to me.
I hate to say it, but the best thing to do when a depressed friend or relative pushes you away is to stay (unless they get physically abusive). It’s really hard to stay because it hurts so much to be rejected. The only thing I can say to people who are in this situation is that there is a very good chance your loved one is testing you. He or she wants to see if your love is real. So you have to keep loving them through all kinds of shit they will put you through in order to pass the test. And you also have to get them medical care.
I don’t blame anyone for being unable to stick through this. It helps if you understand that what the depressed person is saying is bullshit. It’s all bullshit. Not that it isn’t heartfelt and true in that moment, but it does not reflect the person they would be if they weren’t depressed.
See, here’s how weird it is to be like this. I love compliments. Well, secretly, anyway. But when you said that bit about depriving you of my wit and observations, I had a horrid sinking feeling. It is all I can do to not tell you all the ways you are wrong. It is all I can do to even let there be a possibility that you could be right, or, at least, reflect the views of people other than yourself.
I love what you say, and yet I want to push you away. It’s hard to control this kind of thing. I have to let myself acknowledge both feelings. It makes me very sad to be this way. I want to be happy, but a part of me keeps pushing that away, too. Maybe I just don’t believe it is possible, and so I won’t let myself feel good. I don’t know. But there’s nothing I want more in the world than to be told I’ve helped someone, and there’s nothing I fight harder than being acknowledged for actually doing that. That’s why they call us crazy.
So who could know this? People who have been there seem to recognize that what I say feels similar to what they do. But if you haven’t been there, and all you know is what someone like me tells you, then how could you know? And if you don’t know, how can you feel empathy. And if you give up, then you are reconfirming everything the depressed person actually thinks. Oh God! It’s such a fucked up mess. I believe it is true for me. Maybe it’s true for others. Maybe it could help someone persevere in the face of such obstruction. In the end, it’s all about love, and for some reason, I am particularly challenged in being able to feel loved. It’s not something anyone can help, although I keep seeking love from the outside. It’s somewhere in me where I have to find a way to switch off that belief that I am never good enough and never worthy enough and a fraud and all that.