Depression & Neurofeedback: Quieting the Mind

I always thought depression was too common a word for a disorder that, at times, crippled my very existence. I would retreat from the world because the noise in my own head made having to deal with other people too overwhelming.

During the times when the depression was in full flare and my schedule did not allow isolating myself socially to be an option, when I had to go out to work or to family functions or to shop for groceries, I was anxious and irritated and found it difficult to look people in the eye. When I would connect with them, the noise in my head became unbearably louder. The noise was more of a reverberation, a cacophony of vibrations that with the addition of other people's gaze rose like the crescendo of an orchestra of un-tuned instruments. Every word I spoke had to be reviewed and scripted in my mind before I said it for fear that none of it would make any sense to the person hearing it. So many times, I would get quizzical looks because of things I said that sounded different in my head than when they actually crossed my lips. There were times when I would have a outright anxiety attack by having to take a phone call because of the preparation I had to put into it and the follow up review I did of my own performance afterwards.

I raised 3 children, earned a University education and worked full-time all my adult life so the disease did not beat me - but it sure bent me enough that I had to check out of the race for extended periods on a number of occasions. The struggle to be productive was exhausting. I could not always be the best mother, the best employee or the best person I could have been at times and that saddled me with a lot of guilt.

When I was a little girl, I was called strange and weird. I was an adult before I found out there was a biological explanation for the way I felt. Knowing that fact helped me to understand myself better, but still the struggle to survive it from day to day still found me retreating to my own corner of the world when the pressure won out. My life often seemed like an endless cycle of going on antidepressant medication long enough to deal with the world again and then hating the side effects, so then gradually tapering off them. Then began the daily monitoring I constantly burdened myself with to make sure I wasn't slipping back into the despair zone. The insidious nature of depression, however, is that when you're at your bleakest moment, you are the one who realizes it last. My cues had to come from whether I was getting those strange looks from people again. The demoralizing effect this cycle of hopelessness had on my self-confidence at times is beyond description.

The strangest part of it all, though, is that I truly didn't know how sick I was until I got better. When I heard about neurofeedback, after a fibromyalgia diagnosis, after being physically and mentally disabled for a few years, I was desperate. I didn't want anyone to explain the scientific jargon behind it - all I cared was that I heard it might help. To have my "fibrofogged" mind cleared up was a blessing but the biggest, and totally unexpected, marvel to me was having the dark and heavy monster of depression lifted from my mind and soul. I recall being driven from the practitioner's office after the second or third session and realizing with amazement that the colours around me were sharper, somehow clearer. My world was literally and figuratively brighter than it had ever been. That is the miracle of neurofeedback.

Since that moment four years ago, I have not had one minute where I wondered if I should seek out antidepressants, not one minute when I felt the weight of dealing with the world was more than I could bear. I have blue days and days when I want to get away from the world - doesn't everyone? The difference is that I don't get stuck there and I don't start sliding down that slope into anguish and hopelessness. Neurofeedback has given my brain strength and adaptability. I only wish I had known about it years ago.

Corina Harris is a Neurofeedback Practitioner at The Brain Spa. This article is used with permission from Corina Harris.

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