Depression is an aberration of thinking, not of chemicals

    Many people believe that antidepressants actually combate a depression. But all antidepressants do is lower the mental energy of the brain/mind, so that the intensity of feeling depressed is diminished. Depression is an aberration of thinking, not of chemicals. Chemical imbalance is the result of depression, not the cause. The solution to bad thinking is better thinking; not chemical lowering of the mind's intensity of feeling. The side effects of the antidepressants are miserable; and lowering the energy of the mind and brain lowers their capacity for doing everything. Evil stuff.

    How does depression happen? ...Our sense_of_self daily keeps writing in our minds the current chapter of our ongoing autobiography. Whether it is a happy chapter or a sad chapter depends not so much on our personal current events, but rather our skills as a writer. Since most of us were not born with a talent for writing, for telling good happy stories, often we write sad chapters in our ongoing autobiography.

    But, so what? Normally I understand that all this is just a story I am continually writing for my own amusement, a figment of my own imagination. It is obviously not real, so I cannot get upset about it. This stuff about "who I really am". But sometimes I am in a state of very low energy, because of sickness, injury, disappointments, etc. In this low energy state of mind, not being able to think clearly, I sometimes start believing that this stuff I am telling myself about who I really am, is somehow REAL.

    Not being able to think clearly, I forget that I have made all this stuff up; that there is no real physical object I can point to and say here it is, it is not just only in my mind. And so I get Depressed, thinking that my story is true, that truly I am a bad person, an unsuccessful person, an unlovable person. And I keep remembering moments of my past life that can be used as evidence to rationalize this absurd and supremely overgeneralized conclusion.

    And then a friend points out to me that a map of a mountain is not the mountain itself, even a very accurate map; let alone an imaginary map of an imaginary place. And even the best happiest biographies are not the person the biography is written about; let alone an imaginary biography of an imaginary person inside my own head.

    So I wake up. And realize that my own thinking has made me sad. By imagining my own stories to be real.

(c) Giles Galahad 2022