Optimism at the End of the World #9 : Punk Rock and How I Overcame Depression

(This series can be read out of order, no problem)

I want to take a break from talking about framing to tell this story. I was inspired to share it now after my buddy @macchiatta wrote this post about depression (check her out, she's an awesome young, devoted writer).

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I was hardly the optimistic person I am now when I was growing up. Actually, I was about as pessimistic as anyone can be. I had a victim mentality running rampant through my psyche. I was stuck in a vortex of negativity with no way out. As far as I was concerned good things just didn't happen, and when they did they were quickly overshadowed by something awful. I wasn't just sad. My sadness would spiral out of control. One thing would snowball into another and before long I would explode into a tearful fit of rage, usually when I was alone in the solitude of my own room.

How did I get so sad?

It probably had a lot to do with me being very sensitive. I was sensitive in the best and worst possible way. On the one hand, I was very aware of everything around me and insightful, even at a young age. On the other, I was very easily hurt. I took things personally. I took everything to heart. More than that, because I noticed things that others didn't, my focus was very different from others. I saw the pain and suffering in the world and began to brainstorm ways of fixing problems. I found it particularly interesting how many people were indirectly contributing to problems that they claimed to be against. Their selfish actions perpetuated problems that they would later say couldn't be helped.

My peers were interested in none of this. When I talked about war and poverty and injustice and other systematic problems, they treated me like I was nuts. My parents turned a blind eye to everything that didn't fit their narrative and tried to convince me to do the same. This all left me feeling isolated and helpless.

I saw through a lot which made it hard to focus in school. I was well aware that some of my teachers did not really see the real-world value in what they were teaching and found it hard to focus. This led to being diagnosed with ADD. Being put on medicine made me feel like I was sick. I hated it. If these professionals (the teachers and the doctors) were so qualified to say that I had a problem, why weren't they smart enough to see the problem with forcing knowledge down children's throats? Why couldn't they see that our lifestyles were dictated by blindly agreed upon mandates? Did they not notice that most "happy" people were either oblivious or faking it? I did.

"Prisoner of Society"

My only solace was punk rock which I stumbled upon in those early peer to peer MP3 days (most of it was leaning towards pop punk but it still carried the sentiments of the punk movement). The lyrics of Nofx, the Living End, Refused, RX Bandits and countless others spoke of problems in society and for the first time in my life I realized I was not alone.

we can live with no regrets
this rides not over yet.
how can we change the paradigm of social class when the victims are the same ones who slave for corporations
this episode's resolving
but we can change it
a revolution's calling and I'd like to think that I'm not alone
are we all alone in this?

Lyrics from "VCG III" by RX Bandits

Of course, my parents worried about how these songs might influence me. They didn't realize that I had been thinking these thoughts for a long time but that I rarely spoke them out because the few times I had, I had been ignored or ridiculed. Good kids follow the rules. The music emboldened me to Say how I felt more often which put me in more difficult situations, situations that made me more depressed.

The diagnosis

I was speaking more freely about my opinions and my family worried while my classmates began to treat me as more of an outsider. The feelings of isolation had been alleviated to some extent by the music but I was still alone and prone to fits of rage and depression. The ADD medication didn't seem to be bringing up my grades so my parents decided it was time to go shopping for another disorder, one that might fit me better. One day they told me they had set up an appointment with a psychologist. They convinced me to go in just to talk. I didn't really think a doctor could make feel better. I thought he might be able to teach me how to be like everyone else, to care more about myself and less about the world around me.

I sat down with the psychologist and told him my problems. He didn't say anything, he just listened. I didn't tell him much but I didn't lie to him. I remember some kind of test with shapes and colors and questions that seemed to have little to do with my moods. Looking back it seems so ridiculous. He was acting professional and putting on a show for my parents, but with the way my mother had described me, he had me marked for depression meds the moment I walked in the door.

After our third or fourth meeting, of which neither but of us said anything of substance, he told me that I had depression. I looked in his eyes when he gave me the speech. Looking into the eye of others was something I was not accustomed to doing as I was rather introverted. He finished his speech and asked me if I had any questions.

"What if I disagree?" I said, knowing that I could fairly be considered depressed but that he would have made the same assessment either way. "Fuck depression, give your diagnosis to somebody else." I said, determined to make myself happy, one way or another. Of course this only persuaded him to be more persistent with my parents but my mind was made up. They were going to have to lock me up if hey wanted to put me back on meds and I was not going to give them a chance. Rather than conforming to what they called "happiness", I was going to find real happiness to spite them. Through sheer will power, I was able to overcome my depression.

The cause of my depression

After leaving the fish bowl that was my hometown, my suspicions were confirmed. I was a salt water fish in fresh water. There may have been nothing but fresh water ponds in the world, but I was still a salt water fish. I did not belong in my environment. I suspect there were many other salt water fish in that tank, but if they never dreamed of salt water, all they could do was do their best to keep swimming in water that made them feel like they could explode. Some of them did explode.

I was in a place where people didn't understand me, unaware that there were people out there would could. I was being taught the value of freedom in school, the same school that required me to haul ass every morning at 7 am, sit quietly through classes I was not interested in, and raise my hand to go to the bathroom. I was subject to arbitrary evaluation on subjects that even the instructors seemed uninterested in, being prepared for a "real world" that's about as real as a styrofoam cup.

It was only by considering that maybe there was nothing wrong with me and that the situation might be wrong for me could I start looking for ways to fix the situation. It took a long time to find but this was a turning point.

Even without punk rock, you can overcome depression

Life is not complicated, society is. Society is complicated. Life is beautiful, sometimes it hurts, but it always makes sense. When we get sucked into the human drama it's easy to feel lost and confused. We may get dealt some shit cards or we may be cheated. We may feel powerless to change it. In nature, we don't have the luxury of feeling powerless. If our food runs away, we go find new food. If it rains, we find shelter, one way or another. If we are eaten, we are eaten. By seeing beyond what you've come accustomed to thinking of as normal, it's easier to keep a productive attitude and find the will to keep going. Whether it's through mindfulness, religion or punk rock, find the will to grow, know that you can and then you can.

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