PeaceBang

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1. Oh, absolutely. The effect of anti depressants is to mute the highs and the lows. Some of my best writing has come out of the lows (e.g. not the manic moments, but the soul dragging in the dirt lows). I tried medication for some time, and noticed a change - I felt too distant from my own emotions. I’m not very close to my emotions to begin with. I didn’t feel like a zombie - but I had a very faint emotional pulse.

   I would get physically ill from stress or anxiety and be puzzled as to why because my brain felt everything was normal. There was little emotional motivation to write or be creative because I felt “fine” all the time.

   So I learned some coping mechanisms, bolstered my human emotional support, and forced myself to communicate more about how I was feeling to the people who care about me - and went off the meds.
   So grateful for that.

   But everyone is different. Why would this article make me angry? It’s one person’s story. He doesn’t say he’d stop taking his meds, but emotional turbulence has long been associated with creativity.

   Also, it’s breathtaking how ignorant the medical field (and all of us) is about how the brain works. I tend to think the brain is where that thing we call the soul resides, so when you alter the brain chemistry, you are altering the person and their sense of self. For better or for worse.

   Comment by h sofia — November 20, 2007 #

2. If he’s not careful, he could end up depressed about his lack of depression and then put himself in a logical paradox that would put the whole of existence in danger.

   Comment by Will — November 20, 2007 #

3. I think I sort of get what he means. In addition to the “muting” effect mentioned by h sofia, there’s also the fact that your understanding of the universe developed with the depression in the middle of it, and when the depression’s gone there’s this … lack. You reach for it mentally and it’s not there. Plus your old depressed coping strategies are gone, and you have to feel your way around this new territory of being healthier, which is scary.

   Being depressed sort of gives you permission to focus almost entirely on yourself and your feelings. Being healthier means you engage with the world. I also think that, like childbirth, the pain of being depresed is less in memory than it was in real life, so we’re able to minimize it in retrospect.

   Comment by Satchel — November 20, 2007 #

4. My experience was almost identical to h sofia’s. Yes, the crushing lows were relieved, but all positive feeling disappeared into a dull “okayness.”

   I’d rather weep with black pain and shout for joy than live in that flat landscape again.

   Comment by Louise — November 20, 2007 #

5. I definitely notice a difference on meds - relief, yes… but always a dulling of myself. If my self is a whole house with a garden, being on the meds is rather like shutting off most of the house, and living in one small room. Rather more peaceful and manageable, but lessened living also. The one time I was prescribed prozac, I went off it way early, because I couldn’t stand how entirely stupid it made me.. couldn’t read theology, couldn’t think, and didn’t care about anything at all. No anxiety, but not much else, either.

   Comment by michelle — November 20, 2007 #

6. Having grown up (and currently living in) Ohio, I can totally relate to his statement that autumn reminds him of his depression… For those of you from out-of-state, a cloud slides over Ohio around November and stays until May. People like me with Seasonal Affective Disorder go absolutely nuts. I have to work out in the gym for my own sanity…

   I have taken anti-depressants, and they do seem to subdue not only your lows but also your highs. I stopped taking them — cold turkey — the day my husband died because in part I felt guilty that I’d been on anti-depressants when I was married to a wonderful man and also because I wanted to FEEL all of the pain of his death and I was afraid the drugs would subdue me.

   I havent been back on them since. I went through a long six years of all the phases of grief — felt each and every one of them. While going through them, my outlet was writing. I think a lot of beautiful pieces came out of my constant journaling… a lot of insights.

   I only overcame my depression with grief simply by deciding to change my way of thinking. I am still proned to depression — highs and lows — but I feel like I’m better capable to moderate it through tailoring my own thoughts to not allow myself to dwell in it. I can’t speak for other people — they may have some pretty deep levels of depression that I dont understand — but for me, it has worked thus far to constantly redirect my thoughts so that they dont linger forever in the negative so that I dont hit that lowest low where I didnt want to move from the couch. Every day is a battle, but I’d rather do it this way than be back on the meds. I feel like I have more control over the ups and downs now, which allows me to still see things the “way they are” and to write from my heart… both in the low lows and the high highs…

   Comment by Mars Girl — November 20, 2007 #

7. I was on anti-depressant medication about ten years ago to deal with depression caused by a traumatic experience. At the time I believe it was necessary because I had broken down so completely that I was UNABLE to write and rely on my usual coping mechanisms. Medication helped level me out so that I might deal more clearly through cognitive therapy with some real issues that had deepened the depression. During that time of intense therapy (which involved a brief hospitalization) and medication, I was able to strengthen coping mechanisms–including art and writing– that helped me to deal with future bouts of depression. I chose to come off the medication, and have not been on them since.

   I am an intense, emotional person and agree that medication numbs both the highs and lows. Sometimes that numbing is necessary (i.e. as in dealing with a trauma or suicidal thoughts). However, I believe we turn too quickly to numbing. After my father died, I did not turn to medication. I cried profusely, I even wailed. At the funeral, I was seen as “distraught”. My sister, on the other hand, was composed and even. She was taking anti-depressants at the time. 6 months later, I had dealt with my feelings of loss in a life-changing way: I had found a new religious community– in the depths of despair, I did not turn to medication. I turned to community, and found myself embraced by Unitarian Universalism. I was high on life, and felt–can I say it?– “born-again”. I wonder–if I had been on meds– would I have missed that joy??

   At that time, my sister decided to come off her medication. I do not claim to speak for her, but what she told me was that essentially she felt like she hadn’t fully grieved the loss of our father. She came off them because “she wanted to cry”.

   Essentially, my feeling about meds is that there was a time and a place for them in my life. I was grateful for them 10 years ago to deal with trauma, and help lift me from suicidal thoughts. But I am SO glad I was not on meds when I lost my father. I was able to grieve fully and then find something wonderful that continues to fill my spirit to this day.

   Comment by Terri — November 20, 2007 #

8. This relates to depression, in a way. I had a friend who made a drama out of everything. We obsessed over everything. Talked on the phone for hours and talked things to death. It wasn’t until that friend ran out of drama and needed to create some with me by ending our friendship that I realized I don’t like that kind of person. I was so happy to be away from him. I still am. NOW, whenever I meet someone with similar qualities, I quickly close the door and run in the other direction.

   Comment by Michael — November 20, 2007 #

9. Mars Girl - wow, that is powerful. I’m sorry about your husband. And ditto to not lingering on the negative thoughts.

   For me, a key to managing my own moodiness and depression was recognizing that if I felt especially poorly, that sense of futility or unhappiness wouldn’t last. It’s odd … I learned to distrust the mood swings and trust my overall character - the person I “really” was. [HS, Tara Bennett Goleman’s book Emotional Alchemy was a huge help to me in realizing that my emotions aren’t “me,” and will usually change in about ten minutes. It’s a wonderful book written from the Buddhist perspective, but she’s a clinical psychologist, I think. - PB]

   Comment by h sofia — November 20, 2007 #

10. I’ve heard before about anti-depressants seeming to impair creativity. Maybe there are more kinds or grades of depression than we have yet measured. Maybe there are different tolerance levels of depression, the way there are of physical pain. Here also is a tradeoff: is feeling normal worth the price of lost creativity? For one sufferer yes, for another no. Suffering is no gift, but suffering might place you nearer to a gift than a pain-free life would take you.

    Comment by Lay Nerd — November 20, 2007 #

11. Just wanted to chime in that not all anti-depressants numb the highs and lows for all people. I went on wellbutrin for several years after a series of traumas and found that I finally felt like myself again. I was still able to grieve and rage, but didn’t bottom out in the same way. I was also still able to experience joy and elation. I wish the docs knew more about how anti-depressants work — it’s such a crapshoot as to which anti-depressant will help which person and with which side-effects. But, for anyone who’s considering taking them, please know that the numbing of highs and lows is not universal.

    Comment by UU — November 20, 2007 #

12. I have been on Wellbutrin for several years and I don’t miss despair at all. Before the meds I didn’t have room in my spirit for joy or even for interest in things. Now I do.

    I find the comments above very interesting. I wonder if there is a difference in response based on the particular type of medication.

    Comment by UCC seminarian — November 21, 2007 #

13. Mostly, I’m glad to be rid of it. It’s a relief not to have to worry about being overwhelmed by it all, and to not need to worry about when I’ll be overwhelmed next. Not that I don’t still have mood swings—they’re just much less severe and much more manageable.

    I don’t search as intensely as I used to though. I’m not interested in reading the likes of Zizek or Foucault anymore. (Right now I’m reading a book about zombies.) Though the drive to search is still there, I’m not on point all the time to plumb the depths of every feeling. Reflection is something I make time for now—”oh, yeah, I ought to think more about this later”—where, before, I’d be thinking about it all the time whether I wanted to or not. Reading and writing was almost a compulsion, as if to try and channel all that unsettled energy into some sort of shape.

    I read in Touched with Fire, I think, that we bipolars make up a disproportionately high percentage of art and music majors compared to the general population. I don’t know if there are numbers on depression though.

    It’s a loss, but it’s worth it.

    Comment by chutney — November 21, 2007 #

14. Terri — I have experienced similar “born again” elation from joining the UU community. I officially became a member of my church last week. I have to say that since I started this spiritual journey and found the UU six months ago, it’s made a significant difference in my life. I used to be atheist… but I’ve found that atheism is a dark place. It was really hard to recover, for me, from grief without hope. I love UUism because it allows me to have a spiritual side that I can question and doubt freely =)

    (My general spirituality is, “I want to believe” rather than “I definitely believe.” Obviously, the UU is the perfect “faith” for me, the consummate doubter!)

    Comment by Mars Girl — November 21, 2007 #

15. I think there is a beauty in the pain of depression, because it is authentic. The depressed person CAN (with time and desire of self reflection) recognise and identify what it is contributing to his or her pain, even if it seems to be no more than being ridiculously, pathologically overly sensitive or emotional. I don’t like the way depression is viewed nowadays by the professionals. They offer, or push, pills, as if having an intolerance to walk along and stay present with the suffering of their fellow human. And I believe that there are some (many?) people on antidepressants who are harmed through having their pain alleviated in this artificial way, because they are not as able to receive the lessons and blessings that can, every time, come to us through our various afflictions in life. There is a mindless numbness that can come and go with depression, but the rest of the time, how can there be all that psychic energy of the pain without potential for an amazing, stunning creativity, insight, spiritual growth? And finally, I feel that in today’s world a conformity to “normal” is enforced and leaves little tolerance for any eccentricity of personality. The crabby person, the melancholy person, the short tempered person, the shy person, every personality outside of the supposedly acceptable “normal” of the cheerful extrovert is made into a mental disorder. This is invalidating and abusive to our natural spirits.

    Background to my perspective - 20+ years with major depressive disorder, a dozen hospitalizations (some long term), a dozen different psych medications, multiple suicide attempts, alcohol abuse, etc. and it wasn’t until I stopped trying to “be normal again” and stopped all medications that I could actually get through the depression and learn HOW to live, that was not trying to impose upon myself conformity to “normal”. We are distanced from the burdens and afflictions of our body and mind when there is this sense that medicine can and should be able to solve everything. Only when we can honestly say that the trials have all had their GOOD result have we received the message and lesson we are meant to receive. [Thank you for your powerful testimony. Blessings, PB]

    Comment by Anonymous — November 21, 2007 #

16. I read Bugansky’s piece and almost fired off a letter to the Globe. I guess I’ll channel some of that energy here instead.

    I have a long history with depression–not the bipolar kind–and I can tell you that never did it make me feel “supremely alive” or “completely connected to the world.” In fact, just the opposite. My best days when depressed never “burst with beautiful futility,” nor was I more creative or more perceptive or more in tune with the world. I was sad, withdrawn, and often angry.

    When I stopped medicating myself with alcohol and got sober (20 years ago, one day at a time), I thought my struggle with depression was over. But it was not. I now take an antidepressant, daily.

    In AA, folks sometimes say that they were ‘born two drinks shy of normal.’ That’s something like how I feel now. “Wow! So this is what normal is really like!”

    Depression for me was a black hole. I can’t do justice to the feelings in this short comment, but believe me, I would never, ever, want to experience that pain again. I see no redemptive value in doing so.

    Numb? Hardly. And I am as prickly and opinionated as I ever was! Plus I am closer to the God of my understanding.

    Please don’t fall into the trap of romanticizing clinical depression. Antidepressant medication altered my existence too. For the better. [Thanks for this, Barb. I was worried that all of the comments would be negatively inclined to medication, and I know that they have helped MANY without the numbing effect. Thanks for TESTIFYIN’, girl. See you Monday! - PB]

    Comment by Barbara K — November 21, 2007 #

17. I guess I’ll add my two cents here. I’ve been dealing with depression for years and years. I can understand what Bugansky is talking about, those beautiful grey moments, and I equated depression with depth for many, many years. But all this “depth” was useless to me because I was always too depressed to use it in any meaningful way. I let things get pretty bad before I threw in the towel: I don’t really remember the last month before I started my meds, except that I spent a lot of time screaming at God for wasting everyone’s time by putting me on the planet. Now that I’m on medication, I’ve got some perspective, some energy, some hope. I don’t feel muted; I simply feel relief. [I’m glad to hear it, and thanks for sharing your story. Blessings, PB]

    Comment by Elizabeth — November 23, 2007 #

18. I come from a long light of family members who suffer from depression and I didn’t find that medication muted my creativity one bit - it allowed me to get out of bed, stop crying, feel normal again. While I understand that some medications mute the creativity and the beauty-angst-passion-depth complex that can come with depression and has clearly spawned many great creative works (art, music, writing), I agree with an above poster that lots don’t, and of course, ideally, they shouldn’t. I look forward to when docs can better figure out what drugs best treat what people - these days it often seems to be “try this and see if it helps and if not, we can try something else.” I think that this often results in medication helping some, and it is such a relief that people stick with it, while there might be a better combination of treatment out there but understandably people are too nervous to try something else. Anyway, enough for now.

    Comment by A different Elizabeth — November 25, 2007 #

19. Ouch. This article reminded me of Kay Redfield Jamison’s “An Unquiet Mind,” which infuriated me with its glorification of bipolar disorder. At least Bugansky didn’t talk about how amazingly sexual he is ad infinitum, which probably pissed me off about Jamison more than anything. (Actually, that reminds me of your commentary on Elizabeth Gilbert’s embarrassing overt sexuality in Eat, Pray, Love—I haven’t read it yet, although I’m being goaded into it by my book club, but I’m already feeling hackly about it.)

    Anyway, digression aside, I’m with Barbara and Elizabeth here–meds (in my case, Wellbutrin, which has seemed to be the most effective for several folks here, as well as several others in my own life) have made a significant difference for me and have not “blunted” me, stemmed any creative impulse, etc. I welcome the normality of emotion and feel far more blunted and stunted by the depression itself, which makes me feel useless and unsalvageable. Of course, one of the worst things depression does is make you feel that it’s near-impossible to do anything to make yourself better, that taking meds is “failure” of some kind, etc. My husband has seen me when I went off the meds for about a year, and he said that it was wrenching for him, because I seemed so sad and hopeless. He’s a diabetic and he likened me going off antidepressants to him going off insulin. Maybe a bit of an exaggeration, but not that much. I’ve been back on for about a month and he can see a marked difference, which I can definitely feel as well (and actually, sexuality is a part of that, because the depression had made my libido fade completely—and made me feel guilty about it—while the Wellbutrin picks it right up. So, I’m not a total prude, nor is my reaction to Jamison sour grapes).

    I’m curious about the effect of meds on someone with situational depression versus someone with genetic depression that isn’t really linked to specific life trauma. I’m clearly in the latter category; nothing in my life has really been significantly traumatic, but I am subject to the long-term, chronic depression that seems to affect all the women on my mother’s side of the family. Between my mother, grandmother, and two aunts, we’ve covered all the major antidepressants.

    Comment by martinet — November 26, 2007 #

20. Sorry, this is interesting to me, so I wanted to muse on one more thing. Lay Nerd’s comment about there possibly being different tolerance levels of depression struck a chord. I think that’s true, and I also think there are different “tolerance levels” of emotion itself. I told a therapist once that my primary emotional states were amusement and annoyance, and she seemed vaguely horrified–it was like she expected something bigger. I wasn’t, and am not, disturbed by this fact; I’m just not an extremist, in any sense of the word. As a rule I tend to seek peacefulness or contentment rather than joy (my husband is the same way, and that’s one of the reasons we live together well, I think). I don’t have a hot temper and don’t get really *angry* very often, although I do get cranky or peevish.

    In light of this, I think that antidepressants might be better suited for someone like me who prefers the lower-key or middle ground, and less so for those who consider themselves intense and emotional.

    Comment by martinet — November 26, 2007 #

21. Answered on the Chaliceblog

    Comment by Chalicechick — November 27, 2007 #

22. I must say that I am shocked by some of these posts. I am incredibly grateful to be freed from the paralyzing, black, self-loathing pit of bipolar depression. The notion that medication leaves people in a bland, unlivable state of okay-ness is totally foreign to me. I first realized that I was getting better when I was able to weep and truly feel sorrow without wanting to hurt myself or feeling that my life was worthless. Far from taking away my ability to feel, medication offered me the ability to feel without fear. For the first time in a very long time, I was able to acknowledge and trust my emotions rather than dismissing them as products of a malfunctioning brain. [Thanks for writing, Blue. I think this small conversation is just another bit of evidence that depression is an incredibly personal phenomenon and that people experience it differently. Glad to hear that medication has been successful for you. - PB]

    Comment by blue — November 30, 2007 #

23. I’m writing this long after you’ve done your sermon but put my two cents in anyways. I have mixed feelings about the meds. They work for me most of the time but I still get depressed sometimes. So I wonder why I take the cymbalta at all. There are times I feel like the meds are interfering with my ability to think straight which I hate. Or to even write something that makes sense.

    Comment by Bobby Capps — January 20, 2008 #

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