To be depressed when you have experienced trauma or when your life is clearly a mess is one thing, but to sit around and be depressed when you are finally at a remove from trauma and your life is not a mess is awfully confusing and destabilizing. Of course you are aware of deep causes: the perennial existential crisis… the truth that you are not Tolstoy, the absence in this world of perfect love, the impulses of greed and uncharity that lie too close to the heart — that sort of thing. But now, as I ran through this inventory, I believed my depression was both a rational state, and an incurable state.

— Andrew Solomon, The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression

I’ve been wondering lately if I’ve been depressed. I don’t feel like I am. Is my life a mess? Not really. But is my life where I would like it to be? Not really. I feel frustrated and dissatisfied with parts of my current existence, but it doesn’t feel like depression; I can function, and I can enjoy going to movies and eating out and browsing in bookstores. I had a very relaxing self-imposed four-day weekend, in fact. I think that my unhappiness is tied to particular external circumstances, and if I change or remove those circumstances, I think things will much improve.

Anyway, I’ve always been more of an anxiety-type guy. When I began seeing my current therapist, she had to file a diagnosis for insurance purposes. She asked me, tongue in cheek: “Okay, do you want to be anxious or depressed?” I chose anxious, because anxiety is more my thing. Anxiety means activity. My brain is highly active, for better or worse. Depression — I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like me. As much.

One of my previous therapists was a psychiatrist, a full-fledged MD, and in two years of sessions he never thought I needed medication. Neither of my other two previous therapists thought I needed medication either, although neither was an MD. Last week I told my current therapist (a PhD, not an MD) that I wanted a referral to a psychiatrist. I’d mentioned it before. This time she agreed. She thinks I might be depressed, because I haven’t been exhibiting the energy or initiative to make the necessary changes in my job situation.

But I don’t think that means I’m depressed. Down, sure. A bit despairing, yeah. But depressed — not physically. When it comes to things I want to do, I can do them. I have the mental energy to write these words (and many other words). I’ve made necessary appointments. I shower and get dressed and come to work (even if I can barely get myself to do any of the work I’m supposed to do).

Anxious, that’s another story.

I’m scared of medications. Well, more accurately, I’m scared of side effects. I’m scared of permanently screwing up my metabolism. If there’s anything I’m thankful for, it’s that I have a nice trim body that requires no effort to maintain, and I’d hate to lose that. A friend is encouraging me to try supplements first, instead, since they’re natural.

We shall see.
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