When did it start? Had it always been there? Possibly, but I feel that it has worsened over the years. I remember the feeling in high school, like a thick blanket that pressed me down, making it nearly impossible for me to do, to want, to enjoy. The blanket seemed to have lifted somewhat in university, because I thoroughly came to love computer science, but it dropped back right after graduation, heavier than ever, and although its depressing weight varied quite a bit over the past decades, the blanket has always been there.
Over the past few years, the heaviness grew more and more depressing, to the extent where it became unbearable, and it became clear that its weight was too much for me to carry alone. I consulted my family doctor, who referred me to GGZ Centraal, a local branch of mental health care. The intake consult ended with a psychiatrist concluding I needed to do sports, and to get a job. No treatment was needed. I disagreed, and issued a complaint: what I wanted was a diagnosis, to start with.
My complaint was taken seriously, and I was admitted to a diagnostic trajectory, where Beck's Depression Inventory (BDI) established I suffered from mild depression. I found the BDI questionnaire ambiguous at times, but it felt like I finally scored.
In order to assess the possible role of autism in my depression, autism diagnostics were implemented. I was diagnosed somewhere on the edge of the autism spectrum, something I am still not convinced of, but the psychologist involved agreed to leave it there, without further research or second opinion, as the exact position on the edge of the spectrum is merely academic, with no consequence for diagnosis or treatment.
Let's talk treatment. I was offered antidepressants, something I am still not wildly enthusiastic about, but neither vortioxetine nor escitalopram did a thing for me. Simple as it may seem, it takes about half a year to work towards a useful dose, and to go back to normal. The good news is that, while I scored no discernible benefit from either of these, I did not suffer from any of the extensive list of side effects either, which made my psychiatrist wonder whether it is depression I am suffering from, or just a melancholy character. The latest insight is that it is both. Yay! After one year of trial and error, I have just started taking nortriptyline, as this currently seems the only approach the psychiatrist can think of.
I took psycho-education for autism, in order to make me understand the condition, which made me doubt even more whether I am in the autism spectrum, and I joined a positive health group, which did even less for me. As for therapy, I am now enrolled in a cognitive behavior therapy, which is supposed to bend my mind towards less depressing traits.
Life is what happens while you are fighting depression, loosely quoting John Lennon. I was born with a schisis, and the treatment back then was not exactly gentle, and in the decades that followed I have had my share of assorted incompetent medical practitioners. Corrupt scientists did their best to make life in academia impossible for me; they succeeded. Last year, my mother passed away, almost 98 years old, and I took up executing her will, which included selling her house, where I had spent the last 12 years as live-in caregiver. This is like cutting the legs from the chair you are sitting on, but I did not care, as I had decided to leave The Netherlands for good.
However, reviewing the situation made me decide to cancel my future for now, and tackle the depression first. I tried to survive as a homeless person, which did not work out too well, but a kind Lady of Peace offered me shelter for a few weeks, and now I am in a bed and breakfast, for now. What is left is the depression, and it seems to grow heavier.
A number of treatments have been suggested so far. My favorite is finding a strict leather-clad mistress, but it looks like my health insurance is not covering that. Smoking weed may help losing my mind, and other things, and so does electroshock therapy. Guardian angels and other beings of light offered help, but were too commercial for my taste. How about walking to Santiago de Compostella? Finding a job and a home will help on the practical side of things, but will not address depression. Cutting a few throats may offer some relief, and I am willing to provide a list of those deemed 'too much' in the world, but this may cause other practical problems. For now, treatment will be limited to nortriptylene, though it certainly would help if someone detonated a nuclear device in the Vrije Universiteit in Amsterdam. Just saying.
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