This is a post about depression, now look at these kittens.

{A post in which the author writes about personal experience only in part to avoid doing any research and includes many ridiculous cat pictures to make a point which just barely ties his disparate thoughts together.}

I probably should've known I had anxiety issues. Even as a kid. The panic attacks were a pretty good clue. Then there was the first time I heard “step on a crack you'll break your mother's back”. That almost flipped me full OCD. For weeks I watched every step in a panic. Not only did I grow up in Manhattan, where there's a crack ever few feet; it was Manhattan in the eighties, the sidewalk was all fucked up. 

My Generalized Anxiety Disorder, as the professionals are calling it, has never manifested itself in a general outward anxiousness. I've heard myself described as both chill and intense, not sure what that means, but I sure don't give people the impression of anxiousness. I don't give myself that impression either. 

No really, I'm fine right here.

What I did about this anxiety was self medicate for 20 odd years, mostly with pot, and with varying degrees of success. But that's probably the subject of a whole other post. For my entire life I resisted therapy because of a couple childhood experiences. 

I really don't regret much in life. If I could call the past though? Yo, younger Ben, get your ass into therapy ASAP. Oh, and never ever ever rock a ponytail.

My parents split up when I was four years old. My family tried a number of therapists over the subsequent years. We had bad luck with the ones we got. One guy on Central Park South, in our third session (in the first two he'd spoken with me and my parents separately) immediately tore open bags of Chips Ahoy and Oreos; plopped me down in front of a cabinet which he opened to reveal the two major video game systems available at the time (Atari and ColecoVision) along with a huge TV; and most impressively, every single game on the market for those systems. Row after row of them. It was like a dream. Heaven's light shone as he opened  this cabinet. I played and ate cookies for an hour and he... observed? I guess? I don't remember talking at all.

I was five or six at the time but a very precocious five or six. I told my mom she was getting ripped off by the 8-bit shrink. Sounds like bullshit but at the same age while watching E.T. I stood up in the theater, tears streaming, and yelled “Steven Spielberg hates children! You can't just kill the hero and then bring him back to life! It's cheating!”.

Yes it was, five-year-old Ben. Yes it fucking was. 

Stuck on the ending? Do the ol' vague biblical reference shuffle!

Then there was the shrink who got my entire family to beat the shit out of each other with foam rubber boppers and then would force me, all of us, to qualify our emotional states with one of three words; happy, mad, or sad. “I feel weird.” I told the guy over and over again until we literally just had to move on. I mean dude, fuck you. My family hasn't even been together in the same room for a year or more and then suddenly we're flagellating each other with foam covered bludgeons till we're all panting and out of breath... it felt fucking weird to me. 

Anyway, flash forward 30 years. Anxiety has become depression. I'm having trouble getting up in the morning and doing normal things. I wasn't feeling better despite having just lost 80 pounds (which I had packed on after being in the best shape of my life, but that's also a subject for another post). 

Speaking of segues, I kind of wanted to write a post today about the gun-control conversation. How like every other conversation in our cultural shit-show it has become a binary argument. And how these all or nothing arguments are perfect for one thing only: maintaining the status quo. A status quo which leaves a great number of us totally fucked out of any chance for a happy, healthy, prosperous life. 

The mental health angle keeps coming up in the gun violence conversation. I happen to believe we have a treatment problem that is systemic and is one of the root causes of this violence. 

[Edit, February, 2018 - I want to add that ackowledging systemic legal and cultural causes is not enough of a response to mass shootings. Necessary, but not enough. Since I wrote this piece "mental health" in this context has been largely co-opted by gun lobbyists and their shills and it's bullshit. Thanks. - Ben] 

The meds don't cause the violence though, I  hear people like Wayne LaPierre and Alex Jones say that and it pisses me off. These are the same people who always say that guns don't cause violence, people do. As if any sane person would argue that point. Oh... OK I get it now. Those two guys are fucking insane.

Kittens don't kill people...

There are good meds and bad meds like there are good and bad doctors or therapists. There are the right meds for the right people at the right time; and there are meds that are being overprescribed by doctors often outside of the mental health field. 

I found a great doctor, the right medication, and an incredible cognitive behavioral therapist. And, albeit slowly, I have totally turned my depression around. I wasn't just lucky. I did my research. I found the right person in my life to ask for referrals. 

Also, while I'm here, I got dis rash...

A lot of credit goes to my friends too. Talking to my writing group about my sex drive, or lack thereof, resulted in someone I trust telling me in a plain but compassionate way that I was probably depressed.

Ohhhh. That's why I think about killing myself every morning. 

Sorry, went dark there. Quick, look at these teacup kittens in teacups. 

Holy shit. They are actually in teacups. 

I was never seriously suicidal, I don't think. I just felt so lousy I kept thinking death might be preferable to going to the DMV, or the grocery store, or hunting for what was then extremely scarce work. Or, you know... brushing my teeth. That death thought became a brain-worm and was there to greet me every morning. On bad days it was there all day. 

Modern life and the financial meltdown didn't cause my malaise but they weren't helping. Modern medicine and two talented people did however help knock my depression on its ass.

Now I deserve some credit here for a couple things: doing all those drugs and also doing all those drugs. Seriously, I did some damage along the way so... Dear brain, my bad. But unexpected benefits of my reckless youth revealed themselves as well. I knew to get on Erowid and how different classes of drugs make me feel. I had basically already tried everything. I shit you not about this. I once did 2CB with Derrick Carter and if you have any idea what I'm talking about get help. It's not too late. 

I kid, I kid. Look at DJ Kitty scratch that record! 

"Scratch". Get it?

I actually found and suggested the right med for me to my doctor and therapist. It happens to be Bupropion (name-brand: Wellbutrin). I also showed up to my first sessions with a list of my problems and a list of all the drugs I'd ever done with approximate dates and duration of use.

I'm tempted to get all up into the drug thing now. 

My therapist once told me that with my general profile and drug history I was lucky to still be alive. Hmm, you don't say? Was it the time a 300 pound cross-dressed man REALLY wanted blow me in lieu of my paying for a couple grams of speed and wouldn't let me leave his apartment OR the time I smoked something called Red Rock Opium which turned out to be bow resin, like the shit you rub on a violin bow? (BTW, to the dude who gave me that; I know you thought it was really a real thing. You are still gullible as hell but I forgive you.) OR maybe it was one of the dozen times or so I actually felt like I was going to die but didn't. 

Anyway, I have digressed and I have a feeling fictional Robert McKee would tell me it's flaccid sloppy writing.

"Wait this one doesn't have a cat in it."

Nope, it has Nic Cage. Second best thing on the Internet.

So let's talk about drugs then. I read a damn book about MDMA before I tried it (aged 16). That should give you a sense of the kind of user, nay connoisseur, I used to be. I'm not 100% sober now, by the way. I'll never do hard drugs again. That's not my story. Addiction is not and never was my primary problem. Anxiety and depression are. Once I started dealing with them the urge to get high lifted from my psyche. That was something I used to think would never happen. It has been truly amazing. 

Some might say I've traded one drug for another. I say no, stupid, I've traded every fucking drug on earth for just one. And the cognitive therapy is just as, if not more important than the mild antidepressant I'm taking. One day I will be ready to stop taking bupropion and you know what? I'm not scared of the kick.

One day maybe I'll give you the scary list of things I've kicked. Not sure I'm ready. Whatever, I already told you guys it was everything. I will say I never used needles. And never had issues with coke. Never liked it. Um... Jeez this is all very personal to share on the internet, isn't it? Shit. This just became my drug post. Damn it, no. Delete. Undo.  Look. At. The. Cowboy. Kitten. 

Potential employers, you are feeling sleeepy... Forget what you just read.

I guess what I'm saying here is pictures of cats and kittens being cute is the internet's great universal compromise. We can all agree that they are awesome. 

We need to realize all our problems are like that. There's a reasonable, rational picture of a kitten in a cowboy hat to be found in there, I promise you. 

If we're willing to find the ways we're all the same and start with that; gun violence and healthcare (mental or otherwise) will get better. 

If we're willing to get serious about getting help and trust that (at least some) other people have our best interest at heart; mental illness, at least anxiety and depression, can get better.

If you think you might be depressed please get to help any way you can. If you know someone who might be depressed talk to them about it the way my friends talked to me. And, I mean this, message me if you think I can be of any help. Even if I don't know you. I will do what I can. I can certainly recommend some amazing people to help in NYC.

For now, for us all, here's a really sleepy kitten spooning with a stuffed toy kitten. 

Because it helps damn it. And no one can argue with that.