Resisting the Resistance Within Myself
More thoughts on fighting fascism and depression.
As I approach the six-month mark of dealing with a bout of deep depression, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about what might be happening in my brain, and how I might change it. And since this depression has been happening while the Trump/Musk administration is attempting a fascist takeover of our country, that thinking has also interwoven with musing on our current, metastasizing political crisis. In part of my last post, I began exploring some of the connections between fighting depression and fighting fascism.
Some more thoughts along those lines:
This morning, when I woke up, I felt — as I have almost every moment during this depression — an enormous pressure bearing down on me, telling me (ordering me) to stay shut down. I felt this pressure in my heart, but also in my brain. And I realized: The depressed part of my brain is telling the rest of my brain to turn itself off. It’s unbelievably hard to fight against this internal “voice.” Because it comes from inside of me, it feels authentic. In fact it feels way more authentic than my feeble thoughts of returning to my previous, un-depressed state. In essence, the message my depressed brain (DB) is sending me is, Pay no attention to your “normal” self. In fact, my DB seems to be conveying the message that my un-depressed self is fake, inauthentic. And that therefore, to leave the depression would mean I’d be leaving the real me — kind of a self-betrayal. It feels like being under the spell of a malign mythical being whose goal is to seal joy out of my life, to make me believe that joy is alien to me.
But of course — and I consciously know this — the shut-yourself-down messages are happening because parts of my brain just aren’t working properly. Still, it’s tremendously hard to resist this powerful impulse — and I’ve spent almost every waking moment struggling against that nearly irresistible nihilism. This resistance actually requires a huge amount of energy — it’s exhausting! While I’m depressed, I feel physically much weaker than normal. Not just because I’ve stopped my usually rigorous daily exercise routine (and in fact spend most of my time being inert), but also because the constant effort of pushing against depression’s brain-storm is absolutely enervating. Being constantly wiped out in this particular way just wipes you out!
There have been a handful of days during this period in which I’ve somehow escaped my depression — glorious days! I’ve come to call this experience “glimmering.” It feels like being released from jail. There’s a sudden lightness, as if a huge weight has been taken off my shoulders. Joy comes flowing into me, and delicious gratitude for somehow being granted this miraculous life fills my soul. But also, incredibly, I am suddenly stronger — physically! It’s as if instead of constantly pushing against powerful headwinds, I now have those winds at my back.
And can I tell you something cool, and weird? Each time I’ve posted here in my Substack, my whole next day has been filled with glimmering. I think it comes from meaningful, gratifying connection — first a dialogue with myself, as I write the post; then, after hitting “Publish,” the joy of connecting with all of you. I think there may be a bit of a chicken-or-egg situation here: the depression lifts just enough to allow me to start writing, and then closing the loop with you (thanks for all your wonderful comments and emails, and for subscribing!) reinforces this happy process. Usually I spend the next whole day glimmering — often I can’t sleep, or don’t want to. Music re-enters my life — literally (I love listening to music, and sometimes making it). I can feel my brain reactivate. Ideas, tunes, memories, hopes begin to flow again. I even want to start exercising again.
But eventually I do have to sleep. And when I wake up, I have the horrible realization that I’ve somehow fallen under depression’s spell again. For weeks. And I’m weak again.
What I’m wondering is, is kind of the same thing happening in my attitude toward becoming active in the resistance to fascism? When Trump won — again! — a big part of me didn’t want to deal with it. I wanted to shut out all awareness of the evil and stupidity being unleashed. I stopped following the news, almost entirely. I felt anger, despair — and profound helplessness.
I think maybe I needed some time just to gather myself together after the shock of the election — which, in retrospect, was probably healthy. But at some point my attempt at ignorance became a burden. It turns out that shutting out distressing political things that you know are happening takes work — and the more terrifying the times, the harder that work becomes. It’s exhausting to try not to know. Because it’s not like I’ve stopped caring. I do care, passionately.
Soon after the election, Sara started making her political patches. Hours and hours and hours in our kitchen (frequently while cursing out Trump and Musk), painstakingly carving the linocuts, applying the fabric ink, hanging the patches out to dry all over our apartment. The first few times she went out to distribute them at protests (always for free), I wanted to join her, but depression said, No — stay in bed! I felt miserable, like a horrible failure. Then, one Saturday, as I’ve written about, Sara called to say that she’d gotten to the anti-Tesla rally and realized that she’d forgotten to bring the safety pins she gives out with the patches. And I got up from the bed. And my depression shouted, Get back under the covers — return to the real you, the incapacitated you stewing in misery. But I found myself throwing on my clothes, grabbing the safety pins, and getting on my bike (for the first time since the depression began) and racing down to Fourth Street here in Berkeley, where the Tesla dealership is. And then I decided to stay there and help her hand out the patches. I’ve managed to join her for every protest since then — and each and every time, connecting with other protesters (everyone loves the patches) reanimates me, nourishes my soul. I want to connect — need to. And bit by bit, I find myself returning to the news (in limited doses!) and looking, more and more, for ways I can become active in the resistance. Protesting. Sending letters and emails. Making calls. Handing out patches. Allowing myself to become inspired by all the amazing work people are doing to fight back.
Writing to you now, trying to describe what I’ve been experiencing, is making me feel better. There’s even some glimmering coming on! Right now I’m playing loads of songs by the incredible Michael Hurley (RIP), whom I recently discovered through the kindness of a YouTube algorithm. Suddenly I again have the impulse to do not just political things, but also other things that give me joy: it’s been ages since I’ve gone biking-and-birding with Sara! (I think regularly doing fun, healing things is probably necessary for our sanity.) Thank you for closing this loop with me by reading this — it’s a blessing!
My wish is for us to push past the anger and pain and join one another in joyful struggle. Imperfectly, of course! But as well as we can at each moment. Because the voices — internal and external — urging us to hide under the covers are misguiding us; in fact, they despise us. And the weakness they make us feel in ourselves is not real. In fact, when interconnected, our authentic selves are unbelievably strong. And when we allow ourselves to act together on the love we feel, on our powerful instinct for a shared wholeness, who knows how much collective glimmering we can unleash?
Music, biking, birds and demonstrations sounds like a plan. I love the cat patch. Cats know how to resist.
Does Sara have a paypal account to donate to her for her FANFABUTASTIC patches?