Depression or Disillusionment?

When I still had health insurance through my former school employers, I should have bravely gone to the doctor and asked if he (she) had any free samples of anti-depression drugs. He might have given me a big handful of sample packets and possibly gotten me addicted (yeah, I know, that's not how they do it). That might have turned out to be a real profit maker for him. At least I could have known, once and for all, if I really was (am) depressed and just didn't (don't) know it.

All kidding aside, I'm starting to wonder if depression (the kind that I cannot recognize without professional assistance) is at the heart of my inability to figure out what to do with myself career-wise and life-wise. I sort of doubt it, but then it's not always possible to diagnose oneself

Confession

Yes, people, this is a real confession, although it is only a theory. There are many competing theories, and you may note my confusion in some places as I discuss them.

I have to admit that I don't feel any specific or even general depression in the way that I sometimes felt it in high school and college. This depression that I am wondering about may be the type that affects my decision-making abilities in ways that don't resemble depression. It's sort of like when some crazy people are completely incapable of recognizing that they are crazy. :-)

I try very hard not to let my depression (if I really do have it) affect my day-to-day thinking and overall demeanor. I treat it as one would treat a broken toe. It may be unpleasant, but it isn't productive to dwell on it or to complain about it, even if it does stop me from doing certain activities. Furthermore, as a matter of pride, instead of sharing my possible depression with others, I would rather make excuses as to why I'm not "getting on with my life." I don't know why I've changed "policy" in this entry.

It has often occurred to me: Maybe I have become so good at suppressing the depression that I am incapable of recognizing that I still have it (like a person who doesn't realize he cannot see very well until he gets glasses).

This possible depression may even have a lot to do with why I so frequently post vague entries. It's just not something I enjoy discussing, especially since it may not be true (I guess I am a typical guy in this one instance). Yes, I occasionally describe sad experiences in my diary (although I don't consider them sad in a bad way), but those are a far cry from admitting that I might possibly be afflicted with honest-to-goodness depression.

Amateur explanation: In all sincerity, I would like to blame my supposed depression on my total disillusionment with every aspect of American society. I totally despise most of the options our society gives us for work, play and socializing. I've done them to death, and they are just not fulfilling. I am even less interested in discussing the possibility that this "disillusionment" might be a permanent thing (I say disillusionment with "society" because I am not really disillusioned with life itself). Being single doesn't help matters either (don't take my word for it regarding the relationship between being single and being depressed; Google it).

Job Search and Depression

Presently, my possible depression (or disillusionment) seems to be manifesting itself most obviously in my search for a job. In the past year, only two or three jobs have been "good enough" for me to apply for them (I have searched numerous employment listings every day for well over a year). Actually, I have found a number of jobs that I would like to have, but I am "technically" not qualified for them. The rest, well... I feel as if I am looking at all future employment opportunities as if they are competing jail cells, and the one that I choose will be the one in which I am imprisoned for a long time to come. I am supremely hesitant to step into any of those cells and have the door clang shut on me without my being certain that I am willing to stay there for a while. Since I must eventually step into one of them, then I at least want to make sure to pick the one that is the least inhospitable. Why? Well, I may not be able to control this possible depression medically (since I have no insurance right now), but I am certainly not going to make it worse by voluntarily choosing the wrong future for myself (this leads me to another thought: If I choose the right future, I may just cure my theoretical depression without the aid of a prescription drug).

Related-Competing Theories (yes, that's how confused I am)

To some extent, I can also thank my over cautiousness in my job search on my last job (the school job). I desperately wish I had NEVER applied for it. In some ways, it was a good job (the pay was certainly excellent); however, as far as life goes, it was a miserable waste of irreplaceable years. Thanks to the mistake I made in applying for that job, I no longer trust myself when it comes to applying for future jobs. So here I sit, being far too cautious. I'm just glad that I can afford to be cautious (which may also contribute to my slow pace in the job search).

Furthermore, I simply cannot get past the feeling that my next job is going to be one that I will feel compelled to keep for many years to come. Why? Because I cannot continue to "job hop" the way I have been. "Job hopping" is no way to prepare for a secure, long-term future (especially in a country whose economy is quickly being driven into the ground by a disastrously greedy, incompetent president and a disastrously greedy, incompetent congress). Even if I love my theoretical long-term job, I worry that the "adventure of life" (the possibility that there is something exciting and new lying in wait over the next hill) will have finally come to an end. I will have "settled." I will have surrendered to the "reality" that was defined by this society I dislike so much. Now that is depressing.

What All This Is About...

Tonight I saw an opening for a "Reading Curriculum Specialist" with the SD Department of Education. For some reason (probably because I have a degree in English), it seems like a tolerable job, even though it is totally bureaucratic (I totally despise bureaucracy, thanks to my last job). Besides the bureaucratic angle, the only other potential drawback is that the job requires statewide travel two to three days a week, including overnight stays. The travel part does not excite me at all. Why? Before I went to work at the school, I had a sales/delivery job for a grand total of six months. I drove an average of 1,500 miles per week, all over South Dakota, stopping for a total of ten or fifteen minutes at each location. I thought I would really like it when I applied. Instead, it was the worst job I ever had (the school job was heaven by comparison). In fact, I hated it so much that I got a bleeding ulcer for the first and only time in my life. I also suffered all day long from horribly painful nervous stomach aches. Those stomach aches went away as soon as I got off work on Friday afternoon, and they returned as soon as I started work every Tuesday morning at 5:30. For me, that was proof that the job was to blame for my condition.

I've never had a nervous ulcer/stomach ache since I quit that job. I don't know if "road life" in the Reading Curriculum job would be the same as "road life" in my traveling sales job (probably not), but it certainly causes me to hesitate before sending in an application. I guess it's something I need to think about.

Thus I conclude my long, rambling analysis of my possible depression and/or disillusionment with society.

P.S. - Speaking of anti-depression drugs, here's a fun thought: Maybe they could make "Simpsons Chewable Depression Tablets," just like they make "Flintstones Chewable Vitamins." They would be the only depression pills that would cure your depression even before you swallow them. :-)

I Still Cannot Believe It

Parts of the following story were originally written the day after the event took place in July 1983, when I was 22 years old. Its updating at this time was inspired by a diary I read a while back. I don't know why that story inspired me to publish this one, because they are not really all that much alike. But that's OK.

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After four days of hard work building a swimming pool in Rapid City, SD (trying to dig a big hole in solid Black Hills rock with a shovel, or so it seemed to me), I was in a hurry to get home to western Nebraska for an extended Fourth-of-July week-end. As I was leaving headquarters, my employer handed me my paycheck. I decided to stop at my employer's bank to cash it while I was leaving town. By doing so at that particular bank, I figured they couldn't refuse me (I imagined the exchange going something like this: "Do you have an account here, sir?" -- "No, I don't, but my employer sure does." -- "Well, that's good enough for us.").

As I drove to the bank, I remembered that I had still not cashed my previous paycheck either (hard to do when working ten or more hours a day, six days a week). I wasn't so sure they would cash that check, though, because it had been made out on an account from a bank in central South Dakota (where my employer's main headquarters was located, and where I had been living most of that summer).

Several times during the drive to the bank, I almost changed my mind and didn't stop because I didn't want to put up with any possible hassle. But I stopped anyway. Soon, I was standing in a very busy bank trying to decide which teller's line looked the shortest. As I did this, I also looked at each of the tellers to see which one was the most attractive (yeah, yeah, I know, shallow), and I also read each of their name plates. I didn't really get a chance to determine which one was the most attractive because the line at the teller's window nearest to the front door had grown much shorter than the others in a shorter space of time. I was fine with that, because that teller had sort of caught my eye anyway. So I got in that line to wait.

As I slowly approached the window, I looked at the teller and seriously thought to myself, “I should know her.”

The problem is: I have played that "game" with lots of strangers in the crowd over the years. It had become such a routine that I didn't put too much stock in seeing yet "another familiar face." Besides, her familiarity was just “too far gone” for me to try to remember where I might have seen her before, or even if I had seen her before. Her name plate read “Becky,” but that didn't ring any conscious bells.

When I finally arrived at the window, I asked her if she could cash my payroll check since it had been made out through her bank. She asked me if the company I worked for was a local business.

I said, "Yes, it is."

She then instructed me to endorse the check. Before doing so, I also showed her the check that had been made out through the bank in Pierre, South Dakota (pronounced "peer"), and asked her if she could cash it also.

She answered me with a somewhat unusual emphasis in her voice while I endorsed the first check: “Yes, I’m from Pierre."

I simply assumed that was her way of telling me that she had heard of the bank in question. I smiled and continued endorsing my checks; but in that moment certain subconscious thoughts and intuitions entered my mind. They never had a chance to materialize fully, though, because in that same instant, as I was still endorsing, she continued, “You probably won’t remember me, but --”

And in that very instant, all the clues came together, and I did remember. I said with barely subdued excitement, “Oh, I sure do.”

We had been classmates in Pierre in third grade, THIRTEEN YEARS EARLIER! And we had not seen each other since then! In fact, she had been (at least in my very young mind) something resembling my first girl friend. If not that, then she was definitely my first close female friend.

All I could say to her was, “How? I don’t believe it! How could you ever have recognized me?!”

“I recognized you when you walked in.”

I pointed at her nameplate and said, “The second you said that to me, your name -- and Pierre -- flashed through my mind, and I knew.” Then, after a couple of seconds, I added with a smile, “I went with you to your house once, and we played dolls. Didn’t we?” I could almost feel the customers in line behind me smiling.

She smiled at the memory too and nodded her head in affirmation.

From then on, all I could keep saying was, “I don’t believe it!”

I also told her, “People say I don’t even look like I did when I was a senior in high school, and that was only four years ago.”

She said simply and with such a quiet confidence, “I recognized you.”

She then asked what I’d done after third grade. I answered her in one or two sentences because I felt I couldn’t chit chat too much with a long line of people waiting behind me (I was also nervous talking about personal things in front of her bosses in a busy bank). I told her that my family had moved to a small town fifty miles southeast of Pierre in the summer after my third-grade year, and that I had attended fourth through ninth grades there -- then Nebraska. She told me she had moved to Washington state after third grade (I never did think to ask what she was doing back in South Dakota).

I continued repeating how unbelievable it was that she had recognized me.

She kept insisting that I come back and visit her.

I told her that I would definitely do that. And I meant it.

After she had cashed my checks, I left because the bank had been so busy at that moment (par for the course, and very annoying). I had really wanted to stay and visit with her some more, but I had been very nervous in front of all those people. I also felt it would be presumptuous of me to hang around waiting for her to go on break (in my nervous state, it didn't occur to me to ask her). I also didn’t know what her bosses would think of such fraternizing during working hours, so I reluctantly left.

I felt terrible during the long drive to my home in Nebraska. I kept thinking how I might have handled the situation better if only I had not been so flustered and caught off guard (normally, I am the person who recognizes "long-lost" people first). I also knew that I would not be returning to Rapid City in the near future, as my work would require me to return to my home in the central part of the state (three and a half hours east of Rapid City). That meant I would not get a chance to see her in the near future.

The thing that bothered me the most was the fact that I had not thought to see if she was wearing a wedding ring (I didn't want to be "fraternizing" with a married woman, or getting my hopes up if she was married). Nearly as disappointing was the fact that I had forgotten what she looked like as soon as I left the bank. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't remember her face.

Sadly, a year would pass before I had a chance to return to Rapid City (doing the same construction work). We were there for a week or two, but, due to our very long work days, I never had an opportunity to return to the bank (and my bosses would never have allowed me time off during working hours). Therefore, my only opportunity came the day after my last day with the swimming-pool company (as I was preparing to return to college after a two-year break). While on my way out of town, I stopped in the bank to see if Becky still worked there. I was very nervous. The teller with whom I spoke said that she would not be in to work for several more hours. I couldn’t wait that long, so, with great reluctance, I departed for Nebraska. A few days later, I enrolled in college. One year later at that college, I met a certain Iranian woman, and my world was turned upside down forevermore. All thoughts of old classmates from grade school were erased from my mind for quite some time. I will always regret that.

Final note: It didn't occur to me until just now, as I rewrite this for Blogger, that I probably gave Becky the wrong impression when I said I was working for a local company. She must have thought I was actually living in Rapid City; therefore, when I never returned to visit her, she must have thought I didn't mean any of the things I had said.

Darn it.