For the last months when recounting my depressions to friends, therapists, and the psychiatrist, I have consistently listed this current depression as being as bad as my worst ever other depression, the 1994-1995 graduate school drop out eventual move to the Bay Area depression. I also include my post-partum depression after Eliot (2005-2006) and my struggles with infertility (2009-2011).
Re-reading my journals, I marvel that I managed to leave out the Depression of 1996-1998. It warrants the capital D. Perhaps the worst depression of all, and yet, it was not one that I cataloged in my mental history.
During that time, 1996-1998, I was seeing a therapist, was involved in group therapy, and toward the end of 1998 worked with a psychiatrist to discover an anti-depressant that worked for me. I spent most of my therapeutic time digging through my childhood. It was about discovering reasons for not only my depression but my self-destructive tendencies. The dirty little girl dwelling in the closet afraid of various monsters was the central tenet of my sessions. I believed that if I could tease apart how my childhood struggles and experiences shaped me, then I could understand the bottomless well of emotions and the behaviors they encouraged.
I had continued as in the prior years to seek solace, affirmation and strength in the recognition of others, and I firmly believed that if only someone loved me enough, I would no longer be alone, and I would no longer be crazy. I flitted through a series of shallow and often meaningless relationships, mostly with men, but including a couple of women. I was also madly, deeply in love with my co-worker then friend, Gavin. We met at work in late 1995. Our friendship gradually developed until sometime in late 1996, early 1997 when it became a deeply dependent friendship. He was going through a separation and then eventually a divorce, as I was uncovering delightful memories of my childhood. We spent numerous nights and hours on the phone. It was unclear at the time how much of the burden of my survival I placed upon him by sharing with him how suicidal I was. [Mid 1998 journal entry: “Suicide has become less of a fantasy and more an option. I study it, like a career choice.”)
Concurrently, in early 97, I began dating and then eventually moved in with a brilliant and beautiful resident at UCSF, James. Our relationship surprised me. He was gentle and attentive and so very reminiscent of all the boys and men I adored throughout high school and college. And not surprisingly, he was gay. But unlike those dozens of other times I had crushed on gay men to have them come out to me, he denied it. And I truly tried to believe it. Eventually, however, I pushed him away and eventually gave him the room to come out. It was incredibly volatile, but thankfully we stayed good friends. During the tail end of that time, however, Gav and I slipped from friends into lovers. For a very short while, I had an affair with Gav while living with James.
In 1998, Gav called off the romantic side, we stayed friends, until he met someone else. I was devastated. I wrote obsessively in my journal about him as well as letters to him that I never sent. Of the ten or so journals that I have from 1987 to 1998, three of them cover the period 1996-1998, the bulk of the content of the latter two about my feelings toward Gavin.
Then in mid 1998, I largely stopped writing. My primary reason was that it was physically difficult. I had done considerable damage to my arms and hands on the computer – repetitive stress injury – and I was in physical therapy. I was off work for a few months and then eventually went back to work increasingly until I was back to work full time by fall 1998. I have one aborted journal entry on 11/29/98 that includes no information, but that was about a week after I met Sandy. He’s not mentioned, but I know because I invited Sandy to a Thanksgiving dinner. He declined because he was spending it with his girlfriend. I have one other entry on 1-10-99 that goes into great depth about the inner selves that I had described and reconciling the relationship I had with Gav into a friendship. I have no other journal entries. I know that Sandy and I began dating in March of 1999.
I wrote to Gav Sunday and asked to go over what happened then.
Email sent to Gav at 9/20/15
I hope this finds you well, because I’ve a doozy of a favor to ask. I am not quite sure how to ask this, but here goes.
I am wrestling with a mid-life crisis, which for someone with my psychiatric history doesn’t make for a starry outlook. As I am wont to do (you may recall) when I am depressed, I go deep-sea diving. In my late twenties with a great deal of your assistance the sunken treasure was my childhood. Now I’m trying to fathom a bit about the relationships that preceded my marriage. You played a fairly substantial role in that history.
I want to assure you that I am really interested in information gathering not re-kindling anything. I am curious about how you saw our relationship, what needs it may have met for you at that time, how you felt about it afterward, and selfishly, who you thought I was then and what about me was worth the time and effort that you clearly put into the relationship.
I love Sandy, and I’m not questioning our marriage, but I suspect that I may have thrown myself into it because I was a black hole of emotional need, and somehow he managed to negate that pull, to hang out on the event horizon indefinitely. I suspect that in the >15 years that we’ve been together, I’ve relied heavily upon his strength of self to outline me. I am now simply trying to figure out what components may have gotten lost outside of those lines.
If you would do this for me – I don’t care the format. You could write it, we could meet, we could call, you could record an audio file to send to me.
To assure you, although this is a doozy of a depression, I’m mature enough to know this isn’t something to deal with alone. I have a couple of good friends besides Sandy who understand depression. I am blogging regularly, and most importantly, I am seeing a psychologist and a psychiatrist and hoping to see a marriage counselor, too, so I have support.
He wrote back that he would be happy to meet with me to discuss those times. He looks back at them fondly. I am curious to hear what he has to share. He, Sandy and I met on several occasions. Gavin has always been an observant student of human nature. I hope his recall of those times is more complete than mine.