Understanding Ambrose

When I was a child, Friday nights were reserved for watching Monk. Although I thought Monk was eccentric and a little bit different, I could identify to a certain extent. Everyone has his or her odd quirks. Monk just happened to have a lot more. However, one character I could not grasp was Monk’s agoraphobic brother, Ambrose. How could someone be afraid to go outside? To an eight-year-old, this was unfathomable. So many beautiful things occur outside! But now that I’m older, I wonder if Ambrose was afraid of the outside or if he was more afraid of losing composure around others.

I’ve always been slightly high-strung, so anxiety has always been a prevalent part of life. Previously, however, it had been small—little butterflies before a test or not being able to sleep the night before a big day. However, that all changed last year. My anxiety sky-rocketed. Rather than little butterflies or sleepless nights, full panic attacks were beginning to occur. I began waking up to them. It was almost like having a nightmare without the escape of waking up. All I could do was try to calm myself down before I started my day, and at times, this would take hours. It just didn’t end there. I was having panic attacks during the day, and the tiniest things would set them off. I was carrying groceries one day and dropped a jar of salsa. As the glass shattered on the pavement, so did my composure. I understood why someone like Ambrose would be afraid to go outside. For me, it was the fear of losing control of myself in a public setting. It became a cycle. I was starting to panic about having panic attacks.

There was not a moment that this cycle was more prevalent than when I prepared for midterms. At first, studying would be fine. Thirty minutes in, however, my chest would begin to tighten. A normal feeling of “Wow, I should have paid better attention in class” turned into “I can’t do this”. It was a warning sign that panic could ensue at any moment. To counteract these moments, I have to focus on something that I enjoy, something that calms me down. In most cases, I would go running or binge watch Gilmore Girls. I can say I successfully made it through the exams without panic attacks, but my test scores reflected my lack of preparedness.

Despite difficulty I found in studying, I have learned to take pleasure in the minor triumphs. Making it through a two-hour exam with no shortness of breath or tears was major for me at the time. It was something that deserved ice cream as a reward—and pair of new shoes. I once again found joy in being in control. The control was fleeting, but knowing that I could keep my composure in a high stress environment has given me the confidence to stand my ground.

I am still not at the point where I am embracing life head on, and I am not doing this alone. I’ve relied heavily on friendships and even on antidepressants. I have worked on focusing my extra energy into running and racquetball and have cut caffeine almost completely out of my diet. I do not want to be afraid of what the world has to offer or even what I have to offer the world. The way I see it, every morning is another battle, and every day completed is another accomplishment.

-OU Student

(Untitled)

A breath escapes
as my thoughts
start to swirl in angst.
Suddenly,
I feel everything.
My chest can feel
the subtle beat of my heart,
as it contracts
with the pressure
of the world.
Or, how I imagine
the world might feel,
if I were the only one in it,
and I couldn’t escape
a life of worry
a fear of being alone
being afraid
regretting something
forgetting something
feeling everything
feeling nothing.

~~~

Emily McGinley, OU ’14, BFA in Photography

Escitalopram

Sometimes pain
is absence.
Absence of pain,
even.
Absence of life.
Absence of living
in spite of being alive.
When my heart jumps,
and I know it’s just the nicotine.
When my body shivers,
and I know it’s just the cold.
When my heart aches,
and I know it’s just the absence,
the hole torn where emotion should be.
And my eyes drift
from face to face.
My lips form
the smile you expect to see.
My words say
that life is worth living.
Look to the stars.
Too numb to live;
too numb to die.

~~~

Emily McGinley, OU ’14, BFA in Photography

Insomnia

The nights wear me thin,
how they hold me in their grasp
until the morning fades.
Time is stolen
while I can’t control it.
Even while the day is new,
my eyes wide open
and my heart is light,
I feel the weight at my ankles,
pulling me into the earth,
slowing my progress,
ceasing my life.
When darkness falls,
I’m bound in place
to my lonely chair,
restless but still,
alive but faded.
The darkness knows no friends,
only me,
lost in its pitiful depths.

~~~

Emily McGinley, OU ’14, BFA in Photography

It’s Not Sadness

Let’s start off with a simple idea.

Depression is not sadness.

Now, from my perspective, that’s an easy assertion to make. I know the difference because I’ve lived it. The problem, however, lies in the fact that depression blends in easily with the manifestations of sadness. Common sense would tell you that, if it looks like sadness and sounds like sadness, it probably is sadness.

It’s not that simple. The difference boils down to a question of wellbeing. Sadness can be cathartic. Depression is destructive. Sadness can motivate us to overcome adversity. Depression drains motivation and lets adversity overcome us. When we view depression through the lens of sadness, we get the wrong idea.

Here’s a different approach. Imagine a contraption elegantly designed to warp perspective for the sake of fostering guilt, frustration and hopelessness. It disregards success and pinpoints failure. What used to be one of life’s pleasures becomes a mundane chore. That’s the nature of the cognitive machine that carries the name “depression.” It translates your life in way that forces you to forgo happiness. The strength of its programming could make you believe that 2+2=5, and after awhile, you being to lose sense of which thoughts are yours and which are owned by depression. I’ve always described it as the loss of my ability to feel human.

Perhaps the one of the most frustrating aspects of its nature is the apparent lack of logic. How can people who are so blessed in life find themselves so worn down? They have so much to be happy for! It’s an argument I understand even when I find myself struggling. The problem is that happiness, in this case, does not work within the language of math. Joy and satisfaction do not result from the sum of one’s blessings. It’s a matter of perspective.

This considered, what’s the result of the inner workings of depression? For me, it’s shame and guilt. Shame for the feeling that I lose control over my thoughts and my perspective. Guilt for the stress I put upon my friends and family who do their best to assuage a relentless cognitive beast. And frankly, it’s embarrassing to admit that. The last thing I want is for the people I care about most to view my depression as a part of my character and personality. From what I have heard from others with depression, it’s a common fear.

Depression, as with all forms of mental illness, is difficult to break down into words, and I know this handful of paragraphs has barely scratched the surface. A step in the right direction, I believe, consists of our willingness to consider mental illness to be an authentic malady of the mind. Dismissing mental illness as excessive emotion is not the way to go.

Jake Morgan, OU ’15, BS in Microbiology, BA in Italian