What Is Agency and What Is Depression?

My thoughts are my own. The idea that someone can make me think or feel a certain way is false. We can be manipulated to an extent, but we all have agency. You cannot make me clench my fist and raise up my right arm. However, are my thoughts my own or those of the depression?

I suppose the reality is that the depression and I are one. Perhaps I am trying to other the depression to distance myself from the harmful thoughts. The thoughts in question are the darkest ones. Or, are these thoughts only taboo because of our culture?

Forms of Ideation

The dark thoughts in question are suicidal ideation. In therapy and in blogs I have shared that my shame, the self-critic, feels like a gateway to ideation. I can recognize that the feelings are those I experience during suicidal ideation. For me, it is connected, but I am not saying others are wired that way. Lately, I have been questioning my disintrest in my physical health. Yet, someone's random question of where I want to be buried or have my ashes spread immediately brought me to my overwhelming fear of death.

My psychiatrist used to ask the same question when these black and white thoughts came to me, “Can it be both?” Sure I can be afraid of death and also see it as an escape from the pain and exhaustion. Is the fear of death motivated by some ancient survival mechanism in our brain that won't let us pruposely drown?

Be Healthy or Be Me?

I am getting older. My parter is doing the right things as she works out and is trying to eat better. I feel as if all I have time for is work and sleep. When could I find time or energy to work out? I will also admit that I eat my feelings. There's a voice in my head, “If no one sees you eat it, did you?” I happily lap up that advice. That stolen moment in the car with those McDonalds' fries is something I did for me.

I guess this is another question of my agency as a person. Am I eating junkfood because it makes me feel good or because it is something I have control of in this world? In university, I learned that death certificates must have a reason on them. In other words, you cannot simply have the cause of death as “they were old.” There must be a medical reason like heart failure. We obfiscate the idea that age is related to death. In the same way, I don't think eating two rows of oreo cookies is going to kill me. Diabetes will be the cause. Therefore, it is the disease and not the cookies, so I might as well eat the last row of cookies too.

Am I immature or irresponsible for eating unhealthy foods? My sense of shame loves that idea. What an excellent source of pleasure. I get to have my cake and eat it too. I continue to beat myself up with depression and have chocolate.

Highs And Lows

My blood pressue is a concern at the moment. For much of my adult life, my blood pressure has been low, sometimes dangerously so. Suddenly, it has been registering as high blood pressure. My blood sugars are also very high, as if that wasn't clear from the previous confession above. Medication for diabetes was doing great work before. I was also not working full time.

Would I eat better and exercise more if I wasn't working full time? Well, if the past is any indicator I am not certain. When I wasn't working full time, I was ashamed that I was broken. I continually scolded myself for not being like others. How can everyone around me have a full time job and do all the things that paralyze me with anxiety?

What would happen if I wasn't working isn't clear because I really tried after my breakdown. I tried to eath healthier and work out. I was more successful. As I like to say, it is a full time job dealing with anxiety and depression. When I am working, it is all about shoving all that aside to get the work done. My reward for getting through the day is those stolen moments of eating someting I should not.

Is rewarding myself with junkfood my choice or another obfiscation? Is my depression and shame pulling the strings to keep me in that state of self-loathing?

Uncomfortable to Swallow

My inner debate is likely another red hering. I hesitate to admit that there is a part of me who thinks the poor heart health and afront to my diabetes through stolen moments of sweets is just part of a slower suicide. The thoughts that arrive when I think about stopping for ice cream or decide to sleep in instead of working out are along the lines of “Why does it matter?” Is this a life worth living?

It is very hard to admit that these are things that go through my mind because the people around me that are not neurodivergent have difficulty understanding it. They are part of my life, am I saying I'd rather not be around them? Of course, I am not saying that. They don't live in my head. They experience the world differently than I do.

In my mind the invasive thoughts are like an endless rain.

The world we all live in is a dour place at the moment. Many seek to escape it by not watching the news or clinging onto hope that things will change somehow. I cannot think capitalism would suddenly change over night. Furthermore, therapy really taught me that my feelings are not wrong. I need to embrace my feelings, not lock them away or try to esape them.

I suppose it is a perspective thing. Maybe the sage advice is to concentrate on what you can do for yourself and to not try to fix the whole world. However, as I stand in the storm of depression raging in my head it looks to me that this is how the world went wrong, thinking of only ourselves.Though, considering that everything I am going through is because of me, perhaps it is sage advice. If I think helping myself won't make the world a better place, why should I try?

Maybe that's the depression talking again. Maybe it is me?