The third in a series about money and depression (but mostly depression).

Martha Kaplan: So, tell me where you are, Logan.

Logan Sachon: Physically I am sitting on the couch in my living room. Mentally I am … sitting on the couch in my living room.

MK: Well, I am at my desk at work, but I brought up our respective locations because I’m supposed to be at your apartment later tonight, and I’m not sure if I can be.

LS: Can you explain why? Like, I know why, and I empathize, because I have been where you are. But other people do not know.

MK: When I am feeling, um, not great—I hate using the word “depressed” because it sounds both like a joke and way too serious—so when I am feeling really not great, like today—today was like, physically bad, I felt kind of underwater. Like under a lot of water, where you can feel the pressure on your body. And I didn’t feel like talking, really at all. Anyway, when I feel this way, it’s really hard for me to interact with people I’m close to. Co-workers, etc. are actually easier, because you can just front. But it’s hard to have real conversations with anyone who cares about you / who you care about, when all you’re thinking is “ow ow ow ow ow.” The other option is seeing someone who you really trust, and just being your grossest self around them. But then afterwards, you feel guilty for subjecting them to the crying or the moodiness or whatever. So that is why I am not sitting across from you while we chat.

LS: And I understand that. Though as your friend, I wish I could scoop you up and put you in bed and give you a stack of magazines and movies and puppies and make you dinner and play you music and just give you a safe place where your physical needs are taken care of—sometimes it’s so hard just to take care of your physical needs, getting a cup of water can be so difficult—and just let you breathe.

MK: Physical needs is a big thing. I’ve been talking in therapy a lot about how the main thing I want but don’t have is someone to hold me, which, ugh, it makes me uncomfortable even typing that sentence out, but I just want to be cuddled like an enormous baby. I don’t want a relationship, or I don’t most times. There are some exceptions, like when you’re at an engagement dinner and it’s just couples. Anyway. Mostly I do not want a relationship, because I feel like I would be terrible to date right now. But I do want someone to take care of me in this really basic way. And in some ways that’s all I want, and it’s making me a terrible friend. A terrible, needy, no fun to be around friend. This terrible afternoon with this weepy human was brought to you by: depression.

LS: So thinking that you’re terrible, needy, and no fun to be around is part of the disease—that’s not reality. Obviously we all prefer it when we and others are healthy and not depressed—but mostly because it’s hard to see your friends in pain, not because we only want to hang out with our friends when they’re having good days.

MK: I just feel like friendship is supposed to be give and take, and when I’m not doing well, I’m just taking.

LS: And then you give when your friends are not doing well—just a few weeks ago (last week?? what is time) I was having a dark day and you bought me a salad and let me camp out in your office and decompress and talk too much even though you were very busy. That was me taking and not giving. But it turned my whole day around.

MK: Well, I’m glad to hear that. I guess our friendship is more balanced because we’re both in tough spots kind of frequently. But there are other people that aren’t, and whenever I’m awful or sad around them, I feel guilty. I spend a lot of time apologizing to people for being distant at parties and crying in bathrooms and stuff. (This is also narcissism, obviously.) (No one cares about you—me!—that much!) (Except me.)

LS: Well that’s true for all of us in all relationships, or it should be. But yes, apologizing for existing is something that depression brings out. I think it’s in the DSM. “Do you apologize for the space you take up on this earth? y/n” I hate that word too, actually. I think that may be something that we bring up every time. That DEPRESSION is a dumb word. And yet. Taking it back, etc. Did you finish the last season of Girls?

MK: No. I’m some episodes behind.

LS: Well spoiler alert—Hannah had OCD when she was in high school and “it’s back.” And I think giving her OCD was a really smart choice, because it just sounds more clinical than “depression,” which is this wavy nebulous thing (I mean, not really, it’s also in the DSM, but like you said, it could mean anything from having a bad to day to you know, feeling like you are physically underwater).

MK: Yeah, I definitely think that’s a stronger choice than depression. That word has just become part of our normal language. So that you have to say “clinical depression” or “unipolar depression” or whatever just to stop people from assuming you’re just cranky or something.

LS: I’m excited for you to see those two episodes. “Excited.”

MK: Yeah, me too, if I ever feel like seeing humans again. I feel like I’m shutting down. I think actually one of the secret awful things about being depressed and having friends is that sometimes they don’t help. And it’s awful feeling 1) depressed; 2) like you wasted your friend’s time / ruined their day with your whining; and, 3) angry that you’re still really unhappy because your friend is just another human, not a cure for your legit mental disorder. And then you feel guilty about 2 and 3, and that just feeds into 1, and the whole cycle continues.

TWO MONTHS LATER

LS: The last time we spoke, for public consumption, we talked about anxiety and depression and how it affects relationships.

MK: Yeah. I think we didn’t fully explore that? I mean, basically, I’ve been thinking a lot about how much I ask of people I’m friends with, what’s fair and what’s not fair, how much another human should be allowed to demand in comfort / forgiveness / understanding when the reason you’re doing it is just, “I feel bad.”

LS: I think about this a lot too, but I don’t really have a concern about my friends so much as my working relationships. One in particular. (HI MIKE!)

MK: I basically keep it together at work; we’ve talked about this. I guess that’s a thing I’m pretty good at—pretending that I’m okay among colleagues. But I have a hard time trusting friends and once I get to a point of trust I worry constantly about abusing it which I know I do because there are so few that I would be a complete mess in front of. And then I feel guilty .

LS: Though we talk about this stuff frankly, I’m not in that inner circle of people—for you. You step back rather than reach out to me when you’re down.

MK: Inner circle of hell! Well see here’s the problem, the inner circle of people are two people: My best friend (who lives across the country) and another human with whom I have a … complicated relationship. We’ve known each other so long—and I’ve been unhappy for so much of that time—that there’s a level of trust that built up. But our relationship is, as I said, complicated. Plus we deal with feelings very differently. But mostly: this is just one human. It’s unfair to be dumping all your shit on just one human who is obviously going to fail and / or disappoint you in some way.

What makes you able to show people this side of yourself? I think it’s probably healthier. I wish I was able to more, spread it around.

LS: I don’t know about that. You are still respected in your place of employment! I use my therapist, when I have a therapist, as my person to lean on the most. Not that I don’t do it to other people, but my depression is really more just self-loathing and inability to do anything, and no one wants to hear you talk about hating yourself, so it’s pretty easy to keep inside. I think? My friends are reading this are like, “Girl, you’re delusional. You’re always talking about this.”

MK: I guess I should be able to do that with my therapist but I can’t because I feel like we have a professional relationship.

LS: Professional in that you pay her money to talk about your feelings. Work that.

MK: I have some interest in making her believe that I’m not a nutjob. Which I know sounds crazy. It’s not about her, even. She’s a great therapist! I just think I would have to get to such a point with someone like, it would take years. But I do feel like you’re more able to share with people about how you’re feeling. Or am I wrong about that?

LS: Yeah I’m pretty open about it, but again, I don’t know how good that actually has been for me in my life. Sometimes I wish I was more reserved, especially in working relationships. I mean, Mike is one of my best friends in addition to my partner in this website endeavor so maybe it never could have been strictly business there, but I do wonder, if I felt I had to front to Mike and hide this part of me, would I be better at my job? Do I take advantage of the fact that he knows and loves me and cares about me? Like: Am I actually incapable of getting out of bed and doing my work sometimes, or am I only giving into the feeling of incapability? Like, if there were more consequences (beatings???) would I be a better worker? And my great weakness is actually self discipline and not some wonkiness in my brain chemicals? I don’t know! But I sure do stare at the ceiling for long periods of time when I should be working trying to figure it out.

I make fun of myself a lot, that’s one way to acknowledge this mess to other humans. And you’re very good at that. Master of the self deprecating joke.

MK: I’m good at that with you, but with other people, the people I’m open with, I just want them to see I’m not okay, and I want them to help somehow. But you’re right, there’s no way, really, for anyone to help, which is why this is so hard. You have to keep so much of yourself tamped down, and it’s painful. In many ways I think it’s easier for me to be alone. I’ve been spending a lot of time alone recently, and it turns out I like it. I mean, I always knew I liked being alone, but maybe that’s my natural state, how I feel safest. If there’s no one around, there’s no one disappointing me by not helping me (even though I know that’s impossible). It also makes me really sad in a whole different way, the idea that I might just be, like, built for loneliness. That maybe all the jokes I make about not liking to have fun are … not jokes.

LS: I think spending time thinking about how you like spending your time and experimenting with different ways to be are good—I also think these things ebb and flow. You’re also so great in social situations. No one better at a dinner party. I like having you around.

MK: I think I am the worst, but thank you. But being alone just feels like my fate, because of how my mom is—a human who works a ton and has a single friend, and I really don’t want that. But what if that’s happiness for me? Is it possible to be comfortable and unhappy about THAT?

Sometimes I just feel like I’m burrowing, and I don’t want to be a mole person. But every time I pop my head up, it’s like, ugh, disaster. ANYWAY

I am hogging this chat in a grotesque way, please SPEAK YOUR TRUTH.

LS: Okay, one more thing about you though, and this is some Mama Pat Sachon wisdom about to get dropped: These things you’re saying about yourself, about being a person who needs to be alone, they are true of you right now, but they are not true of you as a person. We are all constantly evolving and changing. I tend to extrapolate that a bad day means I suck at everything and always will, but really: A bad day is a bad day. And yes, it’s more complex when there is mental illness contributing to your bad day, but, you know, not to sound like a prozac commercial, but there are tools and ways to work though. Which we’ve talked about.

MK: Mama Pat Sachon knows what’s up.

LS: So we have sort of inverse problems with relationships. Opposite. Different. I feel like I’m constantly failing at work because I’m “sad.” I know that I should be able to just Hunker Down and Do My Work, but I have a really hard time with it, and sometimes just don’t do it. Which is weird. When I have had jobs where I had to be somewhere each day, I always got out of bed for my job. Always. But my job now is more flexible, at least in my head, there are no immediate dire consequences, so a lot of me Getting Things Done is dependent on making myself Get Things Done, which is hard. Like Monday I said I’d do four posts and I did one.

MK: What happened?

LS: A lot of it is, I really hate myself a lot of the time, so I don’t feel like I have anything worthy or interesting to say which makes it hard to write blog posts for people to read. I spend a lot of time in my head, talking myself in and out of various things, then it’s 20 minutes past when my post is supposed to go up and I have to apologize to Mike. And then it starts again with the next post.

Every night I have this plan to “do all the work” and have a million things edited and posts written, but there is always a reason it doesn’t happen. And mostly that reason is, I sit down to do it and … I just want to go to bed. And I always let myself go to bed. Self care or SELF DEFEAT?!

MK: I feel like that happens to both of us or, like, it’s a bad sign that it’s happening less to me like I’m becoming less human. Also have you seen this:

http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/06/this-is-why-ill-never-be-adult.html
I think it sums up many of my problems: CLEAN ALL THE THINGS! Anyway, I feel like that a lot of the time; right now maybe I’m cresting the “do all the things” wave. I just hope it lasts until after I move.

LS: You are moving! Yes. Another way to deal with depression. Just change some huge thing in your life, like your job or where you live. And yes, wherever you go, there you are, but at least slightly altered logistics are distracting for a minute. When is the move?

MK: Memorial day.

LS: So great.

MK: Or a huge mistake! Who knows. Okay I’m going to get back to hanging out with this cat. Best cat.

LS:
http://thebillfold.com/2013/05/why-i-hired-an-esteemed-cat-photographer-to-take-photos-of-my-cat/

MK: Okay. Second best.

Previously

Martha Kaplan and I are both depressed.

This is the second in a series of conversations about depression and money.

Logan Sachon: You said something in our first conversation that I keep thinking about.

Martha Kaplan: I’m pretty depressed, so it’s a good day for it. Go on.

LS: You were explaining why you’ve chosen not to use your real name for these chats, and you said: “It is hard to be respected in your place of employment when it is known that you sometimes cannot get out of bed.” (basically)

MK: Ah yes.

LS: And I’m wondering: Does your employer know about your mental health adventures? Past employers? Who gets to know, and who doesn’t?

MK: This is an interesting question. I have an office job now, but I used to be in a job that required me to supervise children. I was very young, and I didn’t have a particularly strong backbone (this was a thing that my supervisor told me once) (she was not trying to be mean). And what ended up happening was I would cry in front of the children. It happened more than once. A handful of times, I think? But it made it so, so, *so* much harder to go back the next day and command respect. Not that I was getting much before. Hence the crying.

But that was a lesson. Obviously, if they see you’re weak, they’ll respect you less, but children are just more honest humans. If you cry at work, you will get less respect. Or if you talk openly about being depressed, you will be seen as weak. Unreliable. (It’s a particularly fine line for a woman to walk) (because if you’re too aggressive, you’re seen as a bitch) (competent, strong, but not too strong, and not too threatening—please be all of those things). 

Anyway, this is not to say that I haven’t cried at my desk. I have, and I’ve told my co-workers, the ones I’m close with, some details about my mental state. There is one coworker in particular whose office I would sit in sometimes when I was freaking out, but this person was supposed to be mentoring me, so it felt okay to be vulnerable (or rather I felt like I had no choice). I honestly kind of regret that now. I had a panic attack at work once, and I joke about being in therapy because I feel like you’re allowed to do that in New York. But no one who’s actually in charge of me knows that I’m fifteen minutes from totally losing my shit at any given moment. Because honestly, if they did know, why would they give me anything to be in charge of?

LS: Do you think that person who is your mentor “gets” it?

MK: I think there’s an age difference that makes it hard. Part of me feels that, as a youngish woman, there’s no way that my “depression” will be taken seriously. I don’t think my mentor thinks my problems are a joke, but I also think that it’s easy to dismiss a twenty-something having panic attacks as, you know, just a girl going through a phase.

LS: This is something that I struggle with, even myself. Because even though I know that I have a Disease, that depression is a Disease, that I cannot Snap Out of It, that it’s not that I’m just not trying hard enough, that there are actual chemicals in my brain that are keeping me from being The Best Possible Me All The Time …. I still think sometimes (all the time?) that my inability to snap out of it is a personal weakness.

So if I can’t believe there is something physically or chemically happening that is making basic tasks so hard, or if I don’t, why should anyone else?

That said, I have been very open with most of my employers about the fact that I have been diagnosed and sometimes have to deal with being Clinically Depressed, mostly because I am very open with everyone about everything, and lying about that particular thing seemed harder and more stressful than just being out with it.

But I’ve never disclosed it preemptively—it’s always been when I’m basically already in crisis, or getting there, and feel I need to somehow justify my behavior (like, looking very morose) (or being late) (or subpar performance, or what I perceive as subpar performance).

MK: So what do you say?

LS: Well it’s hard. There isn’t really standard accepted language for what is happening. Depressed means so much more than whatever is in the DSM-IV. And I certainly am not precious about it. “Ugh, I’ve watched all of Game of Thrones , I’m so depressed” is just as legit a use of the word as “I’m sorry that I have been letting you down in every way lately, I’m depressed.” But they don’t mean the same thing. And I don’t love to use that word, really maybe because I do feel like it discounts what’s going on. I don’t know. When I’m in a bad place, that is, a depressed place, I describe it as “a dark place” or “a low place.” That language feels pretty apt to me. But that’s also very casual language.

Which is why it’s good, I think, to have a diagnosis and to medicalize it as much as possible. When I’ve felt the need to disclose it, I try to say, “I’m clinically depressed. I’ve had it under control but my meds have stopped working. I’m seeing a new therapist, I’m looking for a doctor to regulate my meds, this is what’s happening.” Using that language also helps me deal with self-loathing—it’s not me, it’s my disease.

MK: Interesting. I think one of the things I have been good at is faking it when necessary. I was talking to a friend today about how I feel like I have enough energy to do one of two things: either work or take care of myself. And I always choose work, no matter how awful I feel. Even if it makes me feel awful. I do enough to make sure I’m not insanely worried about getting fired. Or rather, I do enough so that when I tell people I’m insanely worried about getting fired, they tell me I’m crazy. I think work is a coping mechanism almost, like a way of avoiding the problem. Which is why it’s important that no one know that I actually have serious issues at work.

LS: The jobs that have been best for me, as far as being able to separate what is going on in my head and getting a job done, have been retail jobs. The jobs have been with larger companies, the policies are set by corporate, you clock in, you clock out, if you’re late three times, you’re fired. These are the jobs where I have not disclosed anything, because it doesn’t matter. Rules are rules and if you break the rules then you’re out. That kind of structure was good for me, I think.

The other jobs I’ve had—writing jobs, editing jobs—have not been so stringent. There is a bare minimum of things to be done, yes, but then also almost infinite possibilities of what Could be done. And when I’m struggling and when I’m just making it through doing the bare minimum, I feel the need to disclose what’s going on. I want to be an A+ amazing worker. And sometimes I can’t be. And it’s not because I’m lazy. Or maybe it is because I’m lazy. But it’s chemical imbalance-induced laziness.

When I’ve been in a bad place, and disclosed my depression, I’ve always encountered really understanding and lovely coworkers and bosses. And I think part of that is also that I have mostly worked at small companies, so these people have all been my friends, too, so they’ve been sympathetic and understanding and wanting to help and cut me a break.

But now I wonder if disclosing this to these people and accepting their help didn’t …. lower the stakes for me. Like, at the retail jobs, I’m going to show up no matter what because I know that if I don’t I will get fired and there is no recourse. But once people know, even if I don’t want it to be like this, once they know that I’m having a hard time, it makes this thing that I Had to get out of bed for, less of a Had? If that makes sense.

MK: It does. I mean, I do think depression is a real disease. I don’t think this is “in your head,” but I do think that you can lean into it or fight it. Or actually, you can be lucky enough to have the resources and support be able to actually take the time to try to fight it. Like, you can be financially stable and part of some miraculous supportive family that will pay for you to go to therapy and yoga all the time or something. Which is a small number of people. Or you can use all of your energy fighting to stay afloat. But when you’re using all of your energy fighting to stay afloat, you get tired, and eventually you just want to give up.

I think maybe telling your employers about your issues made it easier to allow yourself to give up. Which is not the same as saying you’re lazy. It’s more like, a regular person will take advantage of having flexible deadlines to a certain extent, but for a person who has depression, that’s almost like a trigger. You don’t want to take advantage, but you do because you’re normal, and then you feel awful about it, and then you do it more and more, because that makes you feel more depressed and you’re fighting harder just to keep yourself, like, not in a huge amount of pain and you can’t do the thing you were supposed to do ages ago.

LS: The Spiral.

MK: I think the idea is: Can work be a place that forces you to be healthy? And is that a good thing? I think it can be, but also, I feel a lot of the time like I’m choosing work over myself. Because being competent at work makes me feel baseline competent, even though my entire body is screaming that I’m not okay.

Doing your job while also having depression or mania or whatever is hard enough. Doing your job while also worrying about judgment, is too hard, is my feeling. But that’s also a product of how there is a stigma around mental illness. And it’s not well understood. It’s like, would I try to hide the fact that I had diabetes from my employer because of concerns that I would “take advantage” of that for more sick days? No.

LS: Right, or hide behind that diagnosis somehow. Do you take sick days?

MK: Not frequently. Once because I was extremely sad. That was awful.

LS: And did you say, “I’m extremely sad”?

MK: No I said I had the flu. One of these things is definitely not your fault (the flu). One of them seems like it might be (being sad).

LS: Another good thing about the retail jobs I’ve had is that, just like there are rules for being late and getting fired, there are also clear rules for calling out and for covering shifts. And, if I needed to, I did call out sick from those jobs—I knew the number of days I had, and I used them. Never more than was allowed, and never when I knew it was going to really mess anyone up.

But it was really a no judgment system. You didn’t have to fake it. You just called and talked to a manager and said, “I’m calling out today.” And something about that let me take some much-needed “mental health days” without the guilt—I hadn’t done that before. If it was really bad, I had lied and said I was sick, or worse, I wouldn’t take a day at all when I really, really needed one because I’d felt that I should be able to talk myself out of bed or whip myself into shape.

And I hate lying. But yes, I’d say the flu. Or a fever. Or terrible menstrual cramps. All of that is easier than saying, “I just can’t make it out of bed today.”

Of course a lot of that had to do not just with the policies but with nature of the work—other people could do my job at the stores. Most of the jobs I’ve had, that hasn’t been the case. A sick day just meant no one was doing what needed to be done, or someone was having to do my job on top of their job.

MK: So the system that was in place at the store allowed you to take care of yourself without taking advantage. That’s insane. That sounds like a dream

LS: It was a good place. Good for me. Are you aware of anyone else at your office with mental unhealth? Are there people that talk about it?

MK: I know several people here are in therapy, but I doubt anyone else has a diagnosed thing. Is my feeling. But maybe that’s just me wanting to feel special.

LS: Ha, yes. We are so special. Magical butterflies of sadness. Superheroes of hating ourselves. Would we just had, like, different colored eyes, or photographic memories. I thought we were going to end up deciding that it would be better to be More Open About Our Depression at Work, but it seems like maybe we’re thinking … no. Keep it secret, keep it safe. But that seems wrong. I mean, one of the hard things about being depressed is that it’s not something that a lot of people accept as even a valid disease, so maybe we should be talking about it more (hence these conversations). But what if everyone at your work is also miserable and you’re all suffering silently? You could have a support group … of depressed people. Do we owe it to each other to talk about this openly at work?

MK: I think the key is that I am healthy enough to get my shit together and come to work and pretend to be fine, so no, I wouldn’t want to be reminded of how hard that is and how close I am to not being able to do that by having a support group at work. But also, there are people who are not healthy enough to have regular jobs, and maybe support groups would help get them to a place where they could.

LS: I’m very interested to read about other people’s experiences with telling or not telling at work. And I’d love to talk to some people who don’t Suffer From Depression about what it’s like to work with people who do Suffer From Depression. And as for you and me, we’re both going to keep doing the best we can. I’m going to do that by eating an apple. I am guessing that you are going to continue to work on your work. Thanks for chatting. I’m sorry you’re feeling bad today.

MK: It will be fine. It will pass. It always does.

Previously: Depression and Money: Some Real Talk

See also: How to Lose Four Months to a Depression/Spending Death Spiral