While I don’t want to make light of the serious depression that leads to uttermost despair and self-loathing, I think the worst bit about ongoing depression is the inability to feel anything. The world seems totally flat and all the emotions that one “should” feel are absent. The word for the inability to feel any positive emotions, even when contemplating something that would normally produce feelings of enjoyment, is anhedonia. I don’t know if there is a word for the opposite, where events that would normally fill you with disgust or horror are greeted with an equal lack of emotion. I described it to my psychiatrist as, “If I was told the world were about to come to an end, I would say, ‘Oh, that’s sad.’ If I were told I had won the lottery, I would say, ‘Oh, that’s nice.’” Both sets of words said without any expression.

Worse is the guilt one feels for failing to feel – or rather, maybe, the guilt one thinks one “should” feel. Because guilt is only a vague concept too.

I don’t think there’s anything one can do about this lack of feeling without either the healing of time or medication or both.

I was in this state recently and, having been there before, did something which, while it didn’t much help at the time, has really paid dividends since. I tried to expose myself to those things which normally do bring me joy.

Nature is something which I enjoy – as is true for many of us. My husband and I went for walks in our local National Trust properties. Bless, him, it was he who organised it, as I was too apathetic. Walking in the springtime – even with rain imminent, did me good, even though I couldn’t feel it at the time. 

I picked daffodils from the garden and put them in a vase so I could look at them. Daffodils are a triumphant shout of spring. I forced myself to go swimming, even though I didn’t much enjoy it. Again, I know it did me good. I made myself go to my Tuesday card making class. This was partly because I had already paid for it but also because I knew it would be beneficial to do something creative in the company of other creative women.

When I look back over that time, I can take pride in knowing I did these things and can take retrospective pleasure in them.

It’s a difficult thing to do. When nothing gives pleasure or pain, it’s tough to make yourself do those things which would normally give you joy – because they don’t – and then you feel bad because they don’t. It’s much easier to carry on with the minimum of routine: working, cooking unimaginative food, watching whatever’s on television at the time.

If you can, however, it’s worth investing in those things you would normally take pleasure in, because, in hindsight, they do bring satisfaction, and even a retrospective joy.

Mary

A Moodscope member