Et al.

The blues

The fabulous Dr. B. has the blues. I use the term not to diminish the real suffering she's feeling, but to pay my own little tribute to the creativity that springs therefrom. The blues are what you get when you make art out of pain; she does the same thing with her blog. The blues, at their best, also tap into a sort of deep, collective human mournfulness, a kind of shared universe of pain. There's something about the academic (and friends) blogging circle that, at its best, echoes that communality. I don't want to overstate my case. But it seems to me that the kind of intimacy and immediacy associated with the blues might also describe the best of blogging. So hop on over to her blog and share the love.

Like so many of my fellow academics and grad-school colleagues, I've had my own struggles with depression. My husband and I often joke that Zoloft is what makes our marriage work; that's a bit of an overstatement, but I don't think we could have gotten married, or made it through some horrific patches in the past few years, without it.

Dr. B raises the point that depression is perhaps "socially constructed." A similar argument appeared in the NYTimes Magazine a couple of weeks back, where the author of Listening to Prozac discussed our cultural investment in depression as both a mark of genius and a test of one's superiority (i.e., alienation and despair demonstrate one's unfittedness for the humdrum world). He claims that many of his audiences resist the idea that depression is a disease, or that it should be fully clear, because they romanticize the intellectual and artistic potential associated with it. (The link to the article is here, but it costs money to access the full text--sorry).

I think his article raises some interesting points about how intellectuals relate to depression. On the one hand, it makes perfect sense to me that much of what we identify as depression is in fact a pretty logical, sane response to a fucked-up world in which our country is waging unprompted and trumped up wars, trampling on civil liberties, and apparently working hard to pretend the last 50 years (at least!) of social progress never happened. It's like those bumper stickers I see; the ones that say, "If you're not outraged, you haven't been paying attention." If you are a progressive, a feminist, a pacifist, a humanist, a thinker, an altruist--then it's impossible not to be depressed by the cultural "shift" (so they say) to national values that are not only foreign but hostile to one's own.

And it seems perfectly sensible to me, furthermore, to be highly suspicious of the current generous distribution of anti-depressants, and of the apparently endemic nature of depression. The bar is now set ridiculously low; almost anyone who complains of sadness and laziness can be issued a prescription for anti-depressants, often without any sort of complementary counseling that might allow them to address some of the cultural, personal issues that might catalyze or exacerbate depression.

But the fact that both of those positions seem eminently reasonable does not at all negate the amazing power these new drugs have. There's a genuine difference--although I'd be hard-pressed to define or identify it--between the frustration and sadness one logically feels at the world gone wrong and the enervated hopelessness that is perhaps best labeled "depression." It seems to me that part of the problem is semantic; calling this chemical imbalance "depression" maybe inadequately differentiates it from the more mundane, temporary situation expressed by "I feel depressed." I have days where I "feel depressed"--my students frustrate me, I fail to live up to my own expectations, little obstacles feel insurmountable. But even on those days, there's an undercurrent of health and stability that is entirely missing in "depression." For me, the key issue with depression was my absolute inability to envision that I would ever feel better. I lacked the energy even to imagine feeling better--let alone how I might arrange things in my life so that I could feel better. At that point, it makes no difference whether the depression is socially constructed or not--and right now, the thing that seems most effective in breaking the cycle is drugs. It may very well be that the rampant spread of depression has everything to do with social and historical causes--our lack of exercise, our toxic environment, the lack of meaningful social exchange, the death of god (just kidding, people), and our desire for a quick, individual fix for what are systemic issues. It could be that the depression, like the increase in types of cancer, is one more real sign that we are destroying ourselves as a species. It may also be true that, as Kramer's article suggests, depression is a disease of privilege brought on by an excess of thinking.

None of that, to my mind, justifies refusing the drugs that clear away the fog. With the drugs, with that choking dead weight lifted, you can find the energy to deal with the situational, cultural, and political things that depress you. Without the drugs, you risk becoming their victim.

posted by Unknown @ 9:13 PM