caroljane

As you acknowledge, truly serious depression is a state of paralysis of the will; serious depression is what I take Andre to have been describing. The causes and reasons, the triggers, the means for understanding and avoiding them, are the actions to take once the depressed person is capable of moving. One step at a time, yes? I didn't get the sense that Andre's depression was that severe. I got the impression that he was still reasonably functional despite his daily emotional struggles. In any case, yes--one step at a time. That's good advice for anyone trying to accomplish most anything. I've looked back and I think that you're correct. His depression was not that severe at the time of his writing, as he said, he would not have written while severely depressed. He was describing a previous state to which I was reacting, a state he does not want to fall into again.

She joins the Forever 27 Club. Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix Jim Morrison and Brian Jones all died at age 27. And Kurt Cobain committed suicide at age 27. Bizarre. Cobain and Hendrix biographer Charles R. Cross writes, "The number of musicians who died at 27 is truly remarkable by any standard. [Although] humans die regularly at all ages, there is a statistical spike for musicians who die at 27." That is intriguing -- is there some peak of potential and success and self-expectation at that age, that becomes too combustible in the lives of the musically supertalented? 27or thereabouts is often the happiest year in the lives of ordinary people - it was in mine.

I have limited financial resources. This issue (finances) takes most of my attention as without resources I have limited treatment options. There are also other issues that I have to deal with. The psychiatrist is already a stretch. There is a vicious cycle with the depression, I know. I have to make a judgement of what is more likely to help: this doctor, that doctor, or using the resources, when I have them, to perform my own, self-treatment? My experience with doctors so far has not been positive, though the psychiatrist seems to be a reasonable man. Can you tell me how cognitive-behavioral therapy deals with death anxiety? I know some people who do this type of therapy and while they may be better off than they would otherwise be (I have no way of knowing), they are far from well. I suggest reading the chapter on Death Anxiety in Nathaniel Branden’s book, Honoring the Self. You might find that helpful. He provides several sentence stems which might give you some valuable insight. Many colleges and psychology schools offer therapy on a sliding scale basis. I would suggest doing an online search for psychology schools in your local area and giving them a call. It is a lot cheaper than seeing a psychiatrist or paying for meds. Tell them you want to see someone who is knowledgeable about cognitive behavioral therapy and that you are not interested in some warm-and-fuzzy intern who will just hold your hand for fifty minutes. Don't assume that the people you know "who do this type of therapy" are well-versed in CBT. As with anything in life, there is a vast range of competence among CBT practitioners. If it is done properly, cognitive behavioral therapy will require a lot of hard work on your part. It will require that you monitor your own “automatic thoughts” constantly to become self-aware of the negative things you tell yourself in certain situations, with follow-up by the therapist to examine those thoughts and help you attain a better perspective. It is based on an accurate perception of reality, not some rose-colored, Pollyanna bullshit. I am not opposed to taking meds when they are the best solution. For truly serious depression, they may be necessary in order to enable the depressed person to get past their sense of paralysis. I am opposed to the inherent passivity of always looking to pills as a solution. If you truly want to get better, there are things you can do, but they will require getting off your butt and getting to work. As you acknowledge, truly serious depression is a state of paralysis of the will; serious depression is what I take Andre to have been describing. The causes and reasons, the triggers, the means for understanding and avoiding them, are the actions to take once the depressed person is capable of moving. One step at a time, yes?

This takes another little piece of my heart... somewhere I'd love to think she's jammin' with Janis J.

Do you seriously recommend taking narcotics to people suffering from depression? What about the danger of substance dependence being added to the depression, and the downward spiral it can take? Makes me think of Amy Winehouse (who died today at age 27). Oh, my God! Did she? I liked her music so much.. what a dreadful illustration of what we're talking about!! Self-medication by alcohol for the anxiety/too high part of depression is well known. I have certainly done it myself. As Jeff knows, short term it works. But in severe depression -- not an option.

As a socialist who recently cut off the sleeves of most of her garments* in order to endure our current inferno, I read this comment and wonder yet again, what am I turning into amongst this crowd? I was a good respectable synaestho-fatalist--now I could be an anarchist? If Anarchtica is colder than Canuckistan, I'm tempted to go there. *I spared the raincoat however. Daunce: I apologize. My comment was meant as a playful provocation, not a painful prescription. In any event, I hope you maintain a decent sewing kit. You might as well fix the torn shoulder of your raincoat while you are at it... thanks PDS, I can't sew but the Sisters of Mercy do wonderful needlework and they are helping me out. Funny, I heard the Sisters of Mercy were departed. I guess that's why they're called the Sisters of Mercy. This thread is taking on the whiff of a drunk in a midnight choir. Unfounded rumour. They're always around when you need them. Just look among the garbage and the flowers. Hic. Can we start doing this with Rush lyrics? Still Canadian, but more Randian, and less depressing. Nope. I'm on the slippery slope. It's Lightfoot, Stan Rogers or Weird Al from here on in for me.

I was feeling fine, till I watched this. Knowing that tomorrow will be a sunny day is depressing me unutterably. Dying of the heat already, Carol

This thread is getting a lot of views. A lot of depressed folks out there, so statistics say.

As a socialist who recently cut off the sleeves of most of her garments* in order to endure our current inferno, I read this comment and wonder yet again, what am I turning into amongst this crowd? I was a good respectable synaestho-fatalist--now I could be an anarchist? If Anarchtica is colder than Canuckistan, I'm tempted to go there. *I spared the raincoat however. Daunce: I apologize. My comment was meant as a playful provocation, not a painful prescription. In any event, I hope you maintain a decent sewing kit. You might as well fix the torn shoulder of your raincoat while you are at it... thanks PDS, I can't sew but the Sisters of Mercy do wonderful needlework and they are helping me out. Funny, I heard the Sisters of Mercy were departed. I guess that's why they're called the Sisters of Mercy. This thread is taking on the whiff of a drunk in a midnight choir. Unfounded rumour. They're always around when you need them. Just look among the garbage and the flowers. Hic.

CBT and REBT work. You simply need to find a trained, qualified therapist. Please don't let anyone discourage you from giving it a try. But what about more severe forms, like e. g. bipolar depression? Isn't medication the medium of choice in these cases? Xray, he is trying the medication. He has said he long resisted the idea of biological causes for depression, but is willing to be proved wrong since nothing else has worked, so he is taking the pills. Hope they are helping! The effort of choosing a therapist, when you are in a severe depression, would be nearly impossible to make, since choosing clothes to wear in the morning uses up most of your emotional energy. After you've reasoned and forced yourself out of bed.

Exactly. Depression turns that best friend into your worst enemy/boss who knows and despises everything about you. And kicks you everywhere. In that case the basic self has to fix the derived self. Retraining is in order. --Brant I respect both of your views greatly on most subjects, but this seems a little complicated. I am aware of neither a basic or a derived self inside my body right now. I am aware merely of a self. Because your two selves live in subconscious harmony. You're, well, "well-integrated" - in normal mental health. For all that you're an OLer! Or perhaps my one self lives in such a way... This topic makes me want to break out my dog-eared copy of Jung's biography. Goofy old Carl Jung has much of value to say in this area. No off topic at all, and having just read a biography of sorts of Newton in his role as Warden of the Mint (post-discovery of gravity), I find it fascinating that both Jung and Newton were hardcore alchemists, and they both experienced frustrating failures w/r/t alchemy. Not to be lighthearted about Andre's situation, but I will lend my hard-earned OL dollars to the first person who describes how Jung and Newton's efforts involving alchemy relate to this thread. Not off-topic either, though I haven't read Jung except via Robertson Davies' novels, but definitely cross-thread: "When you're not feeling holy, your loneliness says that you've sinned." Feeling holy, whole. Not thinking it.

As a socialist who recently cut off the sleeves of most of her garments* in order to endure our current inferno, I read this comment and wonder yet again, what am I turning into amongst this crowd? I was a good respectable synaestho-fatalist--now I could be an anarchist? If Anarchtica is colder than Canuckistan, I'm tempted to go there. *I spared the raincoat however. Daunce: I apologize. My comment was meant as a playful provocation, not a painful prescription. In any event, I hope you maintain a decent sewing kit. You might as well fix the torn shoulder of your raincoat while you are at it... thanks PDS, I can't sew but the Sisters of Mercy do wonderful needlework and they are helping me out.

Exactly. Depression turns that best friend into your worst enemy/boss who knows and despises everything about you. And kicks you everywhere. In that case the basic self has to fix the derived self. Retraining is in order. --Brant I respect both of your views greatly on most subjects, but this seems a little complicated. I am aware of neither a basic or a derived self inside my body right now. I am aware merely of a self. Because your two selves live in subconscious harmony. You're, well, "well-integrated" - in normal mental health. For all that you're an OLer!

As a socialist who recently cut off the sleeves of most of her garments* in order to endure our current inferno, I read this comment and wonder yet again, what am I turning into amongst this crowd? I was a good respectable synaestho-fatalist--now I could be an anarchist? If Anarchtica is colder than Canuckistan, I'm tempted to go there. *I spared the raincoat however.

Exactly. Depression turns that best friend into your worst enemy/boss who knows and despises everything about you. And kicks you everywhere.

I find the idea of becoming irrationally optimistic (delusional) terrifying. If the goal of mental health professionals is to induce delusion, that's kind of... insane. Is it not? Normal mental health is a feeling of confidence and control in one's personal life present and future. Not total control, just non=anxiety. Since we cannot have knowledge, much less control, of everything in the world that affects our lives, and the future is unknowable, this feeling is not rationally justifiable. But we need it to function day to day without terror, and to make rational decisions. Terror, and depression, impair the decision-making process. You seem to be saying that medical alleviation of your depression would alter your essential self, the rational man. Not so.

Woah. And I haven't even smoked any dope today. I like the idea, sort of. I think I do. I'm going to go smoke some dope now and watch "Searching For Bobby Fischer." You don't have to be good to enjoy and play chess. I have found that the real pleasure from it is the unique experience of playing with each person. I've had awesome games playing with little kids. But how many adults truly know how to have fun, right? No Woman No Chess, but speaking of bishops - Rich, ecumenical musical friend, how do you like my Anglican compatriot's Youtube "Straight Outta Compline?" Rev Kyle is the real deal.

I have very little self-discipline, in one sense at least. I will devote myself to a project only so long as I find it personally rewarding, and find the project enjoyable. But then it is not self-discipline that motivates me. Rather, it is the satisfaction and feeling of accomplishment. There was another factor involved here, one that I found very disturbing. This involved a feeling of envy towards other sax players my age who had far more talent than I did. And I found envy to be a very ugly emotion. I first became aware of this in regard to an acquaintance of mine, a fellow altoist named Bob Love. Bob was a true natural in jazz.. He had that pure rich sound that I strived for years to achieve but never quite could, and he could improvise jazz solos with ease, even though he knew virtually nothing about chords. Bob, who was first chair at a nearby high school, and I competed for three years. I always beat him in competitions, but always by a hair. During my three years as first chair all-city, Bob was second chair. During my two years as second chair all-state, Bob was third chair. The reason I invariably beat Bob every year in competition, even though the points separating us might be no more than 5 out of 150, was because I practiced like a fiend to prepare myself for the auditions, whereas Bob practiced very little by comparison. And Bob, a very quiet and laid-back guy, didn't care about winning anything. He just liked to play, and he had a great deal of natural talent. Bob would always sit next to me when we played in the all-city and all-state bands, so I could always hear him. He never seemed to miss a note, even though he never practiced the music in advance. Although Bob and I got along fairly well, though we never became good friends, I found that my initial admiration was turning sour with envy. I began to resent the fact that this guy could play so much better than I could on natural talent alone, and that I would never be able to equal him in jazz, or even come close, regardless of how dedicated and determined I might be. Bob and I would sometimes be called upon to play in the same pickup group, say, a jazz band formed for one concert. I would always play lead alto because of my better scores in competition, but I always felt that our positions should have been reversed on these occasions. I even said this to him the last time we played together. I was struggling with an eight bar solo -- the type with nothing but slashes and chord notations -- so during a break I asked Bob how he would play it. Bob knew zilch about chord progression, but he came up with an dandy improv on the spot, without even looking at the music. At this point I told Bob that he should be playing these solos, so would he mind if I asked the director if we could change places. Bob, a modest guy, said that this wasn't necessary, but I insisted and then asked if this would be okay. The director seemed surprised that I would voluntarily demote myself in this manner, but I bluntly said in front of everyone that Bob was much better at such things than I was, so this switch would result in a better performance overall. Bob Love disappeared not long after this incident. I was told that he had quit school and moved to California to pursue a career in music. I never heard anything about him after that. Perhaps my envy never became very serious, but what really bothered me is that I was often motivated by the desire to be better than others, not by the love of music for its own sake. I was never comfortable with this motivation, and I never experienced it in the realm of ideas. I have much more natural ability in the realms of writing and ideas than I ever had in music, and I have always been motivated by the enjoyment that comes from creativity, not by the desire to excel over anyone else. The self-confidence that flows from this attitude is much more satisfying. When I went to see the movie "Amadeus" shortly after its release, I closely identified with the character of Salieri. In essence, that was I in embryo during my years in music, and I quite possibly could have developed into in my own version of Salieri had I stayed in music. Wendy and I went to see "Amadeus" twice in Westwood, shortly after its initial release. I wanted to see it again because I was disturbed by the movie, but I didn't quite understand why. After we left the second performance, Wendy noticed that I was very quiet, so she asked what was wrong. I said that I was more disturbed by the Salieri character, especially by his envy, than any movie character I had ever seen. By then the reason for my reaction, as explained above, had become crystal clear. Ghs Your introspective honesty makes my initial comments seem thoughtless. But not really so. It is just that my own early life (indeed the rest of it) was so less focused than what you described. I pursued the activities I liked and quit the ones I didn't (like piano lessons) and I can't remember ever feeling the kind of envy you felt. I certainly felt inferior to many of my peers in many ways, but if they got better grades it was because they studied harder; if they were more popular, they just had better personalities (born that way!) - I guess I was a rationalist/fatalist from an early age. I lived in the world of Me..and in a pretty small town. PS just listened to last mvt of the Mozart clarinet concerto by Benny Goodman!

Nope. I played the alto sax from the 5th grade through college. I later got a tenor sax, clarinet, and flute, since I wanted to go professional, and professional players needed to be adept with all these woodwind instruments. I was considered very good on the alto sax. I won first chair all-city three years in a row, beginning in my sophomore year, in a high competitive and difficult audition. I was second chair all-state for my last two years, and I was the featured soloist during my last year for the Rincon concert band, which had won all all kinds of awards. The Rincon band director, Paul Grimes, later became the music director at the University of Arizona. Grimes was a tough taskmaster; we were required to come to all kinds of after-school practices, especially before a concert, and a lot of kids didn't like this incursion into their spare time. But I never minded at all. I often played solos for the Rincon jazz band, and I started my own jazz combo in my junior year, writing all of our arrangements. I scored dozens of tunes. I would purchase sheet music of popular tunes and then score them for the appropriate instruments. We were good enough to get paying gigs around Tucson, even though we were technically too young to be in establishments that served liquor. Lastly, in my last year Grimes suggested that I audition for a semi-professional band that played every year in the Rose Parade. Known as the "Robin Hood Band," this outfit was not as corny as it sounds (not counting the embarrassing costumes we had to wear). The core band consisted of around 50 professionals. These were supplemented every year by two musicians from each state, along with two musicians from all of Canada -- i.e., 102 high school musicians total. Our auditions, which included the usual stuff -- scales, sight reading, a solo, etc. -- were recorded and then sent to the director in LA, a composer/arranger for 20th Century Fox who wrote original and quite difficult jazz/marching band numbers for each new Rose Bowl Parade. I was selected as one of the two musicians from Arizona, which impressed the hell out of Grimes and others in my band, but there was a catch: When I got my acceptance letter, it stated that I was to play tenor sax, not alto, since the former was what was needed. It simply assumed that I had a tenor, which I did, fortunately, but I was never as comfortable with the tenor as I was with the alto. To makes matters worse, I was told that we would be marching without music, so I needed to memorize all my parts (well over a dozen sheets of handwritten scores) before getting to LA , since we would only have one week to practice before the parade. And boy was that practice grueling. We were out in a large parking lot for seven days straight for around ten hours per day. And there were always some assistants patrolling, sticking their heads close to your instrument to make sure that you were not "faking it." If you were caught fudging, you were rounded up with other miscreants and forced to play, typically alone or two at a time, in a "goon platoon" in front of everyone else. I ended up in the goon platoon one time, but because of my marching style, not because of how I played. For over three years I been swinging the sax in the opposite direction of my raised foot, but the Robin Hood Band used the alternate style. That new (to me) style drove me nuts at first. I was okay so long as I didn't need to concentrate on the music too much; but once my memory failed and I needed to concentrate more, I would instinctively revert to my old habit. Anyway, my technical abilities on the sax were the result of a lot of practice. I typically practiced for at least two hours each day, and more when I skipped school. But I was always aware that I had little if any talent for improvisation (I typically wrote out my supposed improvisations in advance). Regardless of how hard I worked, it was clear that I didn't have a natural feel or talent for this difficult style of music, so I sold all of my instruments -- including a valuable Selmer Mark VI, a top of the line model that is now highly prized by many musicians -- to finance my move to California. I sold the Selmer for considerably more than I had originally paid for it years earlier. That thing was a work of art, and I still dream about it from time to time. My feeling was that playing the sax had to be an all-or-nothing affair for me. Ghs That is fascinating. What an alternate career you might have had in an alternate universe. I can see how having mastered so much self-discipline in the service of art, you turned to philosophy.

My observations of anarchists have not been extensive but I have to say I agree, Shayne. Of course, everybody regards his own opinions highly, but anarchists do seem to bring that extra special something to that regard.(I'm not thinking of Ghs or Sharon here btw..they seem less dogmatic than many socialists I know) Outta this thread, Carol

Smacking kids is wrong (reasonable restraint is another story). Discipline should be in the form of a tax on pocket money earned through chores. Unfortunately, these days parents just give their kids money to shut them up. Now you tell me! Damn, why didn't I think of that when my kids were young? It would have worked!

I got close the other day when I went to my dentist, David Robb, near Rincon HS. He graduated from that school in 1968. They recently fired all the teachers and hired back half. I'm sure your old home has been turned into a dope den, burnt down or gone into foreclosure, maybe all three. --Brant I was never there If you are ever in the neighborhood, please go by the house at 4527 E. 10th St. and tell me what it looks like. That was the 3-bedroom house that I lived in from the 7th grade through college. I haven't seen it since 1977. Rincon was a highly regarded school during my years there. You could go virtually anywhere on campus without encountering locked gates, much less security guards. The only warnings we ever got were when Rincon and Tucson High, traditional rivals, played football games. As a member of the marching band, I was told to be especially careful about taking instruments home if I walked home late at night (which I did). Tucson High, which was predominantly black, was very antagonistic toward Rincon, which was predominantly white. This racial tension was exacerbated if Rincon won the annual football game, which was a very big deal. Tucson High was a football powerhouse with a number of state championships to their credit. Rincon was usually pretty good in football, though we were much stronger in basketball. I vividly recall one year when the Rincon and Tucson High football teams were both undefeated, so the final game of the season against one another would determine who went to the state championship playoffs. Rincon won by a few points, owing to the last minute 90-plus yard kickoff return by a player who couldn't usually run ten yards without tripping over his own feet. This fluke really pissed off the Tucson High students, so there were a lot of serious rumbles after the game. Since I played in the band, I was bussed to all the games, whether I wanted to watch them or not. I was surprised when Rincon made it to the final championship game, but it proved an embarrassment. We were crushed in a walkover. The final score was something like 56 to 7. Ghs What instrument did you play, Goerge? Let me guess - this is OL - must be the trombone!

] Andre, I'm starting to feel like the local OL drug pusher, sidling up to you under the disapproving eyes of the neighbours. But your descriptions of your experience are so textbook that I really feel the medicine might help you. The "normal" emotional state for human beings is irrationally optimistic - life is a "Comedy to those who think and a tragedy for those who feel", and so on. There is no reason we should enjoy life in a world which is so full of ugliness and injustice, or plan for a future which may not come, but evolution ensures that we do - and probably did even back when everyone's life really was"nasty, brutish and short." Sorry for the unattributed quotes but everyone here knows I am too lazy to look them up. Hope you'll let us know how you are feeling in a week or so.

So Andre, are you taking the meds you were prescribed?

That's kind of chicken and eggish isn't it? Who has five hours a day to spend only on the computer? - the unemployed, the antisocial - they're probably depressed already.