It’s been 12 years since my diagnosis of Triple Negative Breast Cancer. Thanks to FaceBook for the reminder. I think I’ve been doing a pretty good job of putting it in my rear-view mirror. At the time I was dealing with treatment, it invigorated a lust for life in me (cue Iggy Pop) which previously hadn’t been particularly stable. But that lust was smacked down gradually by life going back to the usual struggles that human beings are susceptible to: mental issues of one’s own, mental issues of others, money, money, money, societal expectations and pressures, parenting, finding meaning, purpose and identity in one’s existence, navigating relationships, adulting…not to mention the existential stress about the world around me.
And at long last, this confirmation of ADHD, this definitive diagnosis, has put a lot of things in perspective about my personal history. I’d been wondering the majority of my years where this depression and self-loathing came from because I have not had a tough life by any means in terms of money (never rich, but not abject poverty), or loving relationships, no instability in living situations growing up, no lack of socialization, no physical abuse, no wars endured. I’ve started to wonder what came first? Depression? It does run in the family. Or ADHD? And now that I’ve finally got medication to help me with it, I’m really starting to wonder about it all. I’ve only been on this prescription for about a week and I have noticed that it has helped in little ways that may not seem big to others, but are big to this person who has been in a depressive funk for way too long.
However, I feel a tinge of unease this morning. And I’m trying to figure out what that is.
When I started on this prescription, I almost immediately felt a difference. I had more energy. (Doh. These meds are all stimulants, of course). I was suddenly in a better mood. I haven’t been jittery per se, but definitely “bouncier”, a bit like Tigger. It’s helped with my tendency to procrastinate. It’s helped with my tendency to avoid people and doing things. It’s definitely helped me grab my tongue back from the cat….
And, I think, that’s where my uneasiness is coming from.
When depressed, I see myself as annoying, obnoxious, useless, a failure, selfish, spoiled, irresponsible, foolish, stupid, awkward, talentless, pompous, boring, inept, absolutely, positively, unimportant and unhelpful, a gigantic mistake of the Universe, a complete embarrassment and disappointment of a human being. And someone who needs to just shut up, already!
Whenever I manage to pull myself out – and it seems completely arbitrary how it happens – I feel like I’m not too shabby. Maybe worthwhile. I’m okay. Not perfect, but not terrible. Definitely not stupid. Maybe worthy of offering my two cents to a conversation.
But, I haven’t yet gotten out of my thoughts and feelings of needing to be quiet. And this medication is transforming me back to how I was as a child: pretty expressive. Like, I don’t add just two cents. I exuberantly throw in about 50 dollars.
As long as I was in a space where I felt comfortable, mind you. Teachers, bosses and other “officials” made me clam up tight in most situations. Well, in my younger days, anyway. And I can remember how others would treat me when I got too chatty or lively. My parents would admonish me to calm down. My mother, for certain, has always said I talk too much and don’t give others a chance to speak. My school friends always used the word “weird”. I’ve stayed closest to those for whom “weird” wasn’t a bad thing; they’re nicer and more interesting anyway. New acquaintances have occasionally given me some looks. And sometimes even my husband exasperatedly just wishes I would “get to the point”. I know for a fact that my teenage son would like me to keep my mouth shut (much more so than other kids typically wish that for their parents).
I woke up from a dream this morning that may have some involvement with this sudden, slightly dampened enthusiasm, lessened energy, and general unease I’m now feeling. Like, Tigger has been given a mild sedative and a disappointing situation. All I can remember from the dream is the image of a Facebook page and someone’s voice, maybe mine, saying “You’re gonna regret this renewed wordiness. You should have stuck to not talking. Why the hell are you reaching out again? Have you learned nothing?”
And I feel Depression and it’s favorite sibling, Shame, breathing on my neck.
What do I do now?
Yappity 
I’ll tell you my thoughts and you can take them or leave them.
The weird feeling after the Facebook dream is simple see-sawing back into Christiane’s Dark Mode after a spell of good feeling possibly brought on by this new stimulant. Sounds like it has helped release you back into life somewhat but you always manage to get smacked back down, like now. Maybe you (your superego) are punishing yourself for sticking up for yourself and returning somewhat to your ideal self while the medication was working. That sounds averagely spooky, I know, but in psychoanalytic terms, you have a particularly nasty superego/bad object on the throne inside the ole noggin, full of venom and criticism which causes you attendant crippling embarrassment and shame and lack of self-esteem, which all leads to hesitation and rationalization and all those other defenses against such terrible thoughts and feelings. You probably need to let those defenses fail so you can see exactly what you’re dealing with. You need to get behind the curtain of the inner tyrant at this inverted Oz and butcher him like Sheen did Brando: with extreme prejudice.
This is kind of the same idea behind transference in psychoanalysis, meaning, until the patient invests a lot of feeling into the analyst in the form of transferring experiences from an important relationship in childhood, there’s nothing to analyze. As soon as the patient starts treating the analyst like, say, a dictatorial and unloving father, or a kind but passive aggressive mother, there’s no way to know what the patient’s issues are. Once that transference happens, you’re in business. And so the work happens when the stuff of the transference is analyzed and defenses against negative feelings are found.
For instance, let’s say I’m the patient and I start treating my analyst as though he were an analogue of my father who devalued my interests in books and art because he feared they meant I was gay which he didn’t like because it would embarrass him in front of the world. Okay, well, after a lot of work and a few sessions of talk about, say, having writer’s block, the analyst finally one day says: You are not writing because unconsciously you are afraid of succeeding because to do so would represent a rejection of your father and cause him great pain. Out of the fear of the guilt that would come from outdoing your father, of writing a successful book which might portray him somewhat vengefully, you can’t write. So now we know the defense of writer’s block is protecting your father from your criticisms of him. YOU aren’t letting YOU do that to him, and the proof of it is all those months and years of blank pages every day.
That’s just an off the toppa the head example but fill in your own issues and patterns and you see what I mean.
Okay, back to what I was saying earlier: “You probably need to let those defenses fail so you can see what you’re dealing with.” This means exploring all that negativity that shows up and devalues you after you manage to Be Your Ideal Self for a spell; all that scary hang(over)xiety when whatever it was that allowed you to break free, wears off and you have to go back home to that dreadful studio apartment you share with all those horrible roommates.
I’m reminded of something I read the other day which said, “Once the patient can free-associate, they’re pretty much cured.” This is hyperbole but it’s kind of true because sitting there or laying there and talking non-stop during a session NECESSARILY means that you have developed a dialectical mechanism in your thinking and have, more or less, toppled the tyranny of a brutal superego. Unless you are just insanely ranting, it’s pretty hard to talk on and on, or to write on and on, without that dialectical mechanism at work. And once you get the inner dialog going on, provided it isn’t a scary argument between your inner child and your Hitlerian superego, you are doing the work of the analyst all by yourself. Yay! Attaining an inner dialog which is truthful and calm and mature and honest and most of all non-judgmental and loving, is how you know you’re most of the way there to replacing the inner lecture or sermon or punishment sentence. Ideally, by doing this, the inner dialog, the dialectic and such, replaces reactivity because it is no longer needed because the tyrant is dead and has been replaced by an admittedly not always perfect, perhaps, but nevertheless effective team named Chris. And this team loves sober and non-judgmental and serious back and forth at all times regarding all things.
To put it in a more Object Relations-centered way, you need to build up the good object and dethrone the bad object.
If the stimulant helps you be yourself which you keep hidden because of some nasty voice in your rather castrating (women can symbolically have their power taken away too) superego, well, that’s a good thing . . . But only until it wears off. This seems no different than going on a bender and Facebooking about everything under the sun and then waking up in a panic because you feel that superego breathing down your neck and wanting revenge for your little coup attempt. The only option is to reveal yourself in those nice moments which your new med provides in a way that’s not mere ventilation. Challenge yourself to express yourself online (and elsewhere) in your ideal inner voice(s), not a ranting one(s). And also, write as though your sanity depended on it. Be absolutely serious at all times. Think things through. Analyze them like a good Freudian. Don’t put anything down online that you’re not certain of; this way, when the sober and panic-stricken morning comes, you can at least meet the panic with the knowledge that you only wrote the truth, explained it fully, made yourself clear, remained over-thorough in the mentioning and addressing of possible objections anticipated, recorded the product of the good object on the throne or the honest yet loving dialectic inside, and so on.
I guess what I mean is USE this new medication. Don’t waste the newfound strength and courage of self and mind that it provides you. And let it help you too by giving you a space of good feeling where you can practice not reacting, but thinking and analyzing.
That will be $110 dollars per hour for two hours for a total of $220 buckaroos. Thank you. See you next week.
Thank you, my beloved Mark!!! You are solid ground when it comes to this stuff. Mwah!! (Do you accept checks?)