A reader shares a fascinating story. But don't try this at home:
I'm writing in response to the many readers who despair ever finding their way out of the "sunless pit" of depression. I spent the last two years of my life struggling to get up and find meaning in my day-to-day life. I was wrapped up in my own personal misery of what-ifs and recriminations, and slowly my friends drifted away. My husband hung on, but as he recently said, "You were my Eeyore." What changed? Why are things better?
Would you believe that it took a head injury for me to be knocked out of my persistent and consuming depression?
No kidding. Four weeks ago, I had a sports-related accident that caused me to land on my head. I never passed out, but I have amnesia surrounding the incident. When I woke up to consciousness, I felt happy, light, full of air and sunshine. At first I thought it was because I hadn't died when I should have. (Apparently, the first words out of the EMT's mouth were, "She should be dead.") Then I thought it was the rocking pain killers. Just a few days ago, however, I realized it was none of these things at all.
One of the side effects of the concussion was a change in my memory patterns. I can remember things from various times in my life, but how I remember them has changed. My memories used to be a movie version of the events unfolding. I would relive the entire emotional experience every time I unshelved a memory. Sad childhood story? I would relive, in bitter detail, each excruciating moment. Terrible embarrassment? I felt that sense of shame all over again. Of course, as I accessed memories, the emotional impact of them would be heightened by an overlay of regret, guilt and sometimes longing for a different time in my life. In essence, my memories were filed under their emotional impact. That meant when I felt sad, I would often be flooded with other sad memories that arose unbidden.
It was a downward spiral, particularly because the last few years have been tough. When my husband would say, "Just don't think about X … you're obsessing over it," I would say, "I can't." He thought I was saying, "I refuse to stop thinking about it," but I honestly meant "I cannot stop thinking about the bad stuff."
For whatever reason, my head injury scrambled my brain's normal way of doing business. Now when I think about memories, they're just that: memories – things that happened in the past. It's a huge, huge relief. I get up in the morning and feel able to face what comes next. I'm not living with a persistent sense of dread.
I don't know if my brain will revert back to its old ways. I pray not. I am living the life I should have been living for years, and I know it's possible to be happy. I imagine there are other ways to break out of these brain habits that don't involve falling onto one's head. I'm not a psychologist, so I have no idea what those methods might be. As odd as it sounds, I feel incredibly grateful to have had the accident. (And, no, that's not my concussion talking …)
I can't judge any single story, but this recalls the now popular-again electroconvulsive therapy. It sounds barbaric, and it once was, but it can be highly effective in breaking the mind's paralysis. My mother went through it multiple times when I was growing up. It terrified me; but it saved her. Next month I'll get to see her. She's never been brighter. And I cannot express how dark it got at times.
The Dish 