There was a story on NPR this morning about some studies of depression. Like many people, I hear about these studies and connect the dots, acting like a hypochondriac.
Basically, they said that traumatic events in childhood can result in depression later in life, including the inability to deal with stressful situations, if you carry a particular version of a gene.
Well, I won’t go into [any] detail, but I was the victim of a childhood trauma. Generally speaking, I don’t think much about it and don’t really think I have been traumatized that badly by it. At least, I don’t think so. Sometimes, I suppose, these things can fester back in the depths of your brain and one doesn’t really know that it has aftereffects.
What does it mean that I can’t handle small stresses in my life, lashing out at people and generally exhibiting a temper that’s way over the top?
What does it mean that I am scared of strangers, that I am incredibly uncomfortable in social situations where I must meet new people?
And what does it mean that I bought my first house within only a few blocks of the place where that childhood trauma happened?
There was a period of time in the 90s when I was diagnosed with depression and put on anti-depressants. People told me it helped, but I didn’t think that it did… and I felt weird. So I stopped taking them. At the time I was diagnosed, I was glad — someone had finally given me a reason why I wasn’t a happier person. But drugs didn’t make me happier. And I don’t think I’ve ever really had suicidal thoughts, so I wasn’t too worried about it.
In the NPR story, they played the sound of one brain cell firing. It was really noisy. Can you imagine what it would sound like if you could hear all of the billions of cells firing? Thank goodness that nature was smart enough to build in some electrical shielding so that we don’t go completely insane.
