Sep. 4th, 2015

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I remember a Wil Wheaton blog entry ( http://wilwheaton.net/2015/08/tears-in-rain/ ) linked to from Facebook that I ran across this morning. I remember how he talked about never being good enough for the voice in his head. I remember reading his description and how it sounded just like he was describing my experience of it.

I have at various times known as much about antidepressant drugs as anybody not actively in the forefront of the field. While it's better these days, in the past I have had the voice whisper how much easier it would be to just give up. I'm pretty certain that the only reason I'm still alive is because of Carlos Castaneda. In one of his books, the protagonist is "introduced to his best friend, Death" (despite the quotes, I'm paraphrasing). He is told that "whatever happens in life, you can look over your left shoulder, and Death will be there. And he will tell you that whatever has happened does not matter. That the only thing that matters is that he hasn't touched you yet". I have used my death in this way many times… Whenever the voice of depression grew too loud.

Wil's description let me see myself, my own struggle with the voice, in a new way. I can now see it from outside of myself. I can see how my dad played a key role in creating that voice. Specifically the part about never being able to be good enough. But that means it's my dad's voice, not my own. And that gives me a new weapon in dealing with it.

It's very clear to me that, while depression has roots in neurochemistry, it's also in part about habits of thought. Perhaps this will help me to identify when I'm playing my dad's tapes.

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Akien MacIain

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