Two years — that’s how long I had been in therapy, from July 2020 to July 2022. For my 322 Crew wondering and weren’t aware, I, Ronnie Gonzalez, was diagnosed w/having Recurrent Depression Disorder and Mild Anxiety. It’s a different ball game than what others with Dysthymia, Major Depressive Disorder or even Seasonal Depression. The best way I can explain it consists of being fine for months on end and then, rooted in something that may be a trigger rooted in past undesirable experiences, depression hits and usually will knock me out of rhythm for about 2 weeks. When untreated and left unaddressed, it can drag on for longer. Thankfully, after years of not handling the issue while it was initially mild Depression back in 2012, I decided to take action.
Addressing the issues was easier than expected, mainly because well…sitting there and disputing was deemed useless. When you’re seeking help, checking your ego at the door is the first thing that needs to be done. If you’re gonna sit there and argue with your therapist, you will waste your time. What will get things done is talking about yourself — why you’re seeing help, what was the breaking point and then beginning to address the roots of all the trauma and hurt. Obviously, this means starting from childhood with as much as you remember, how those things led to your distorted mindset that feeds your anxiety and depression.
The upside for me is that I didn’t have traumas that many others I know had — no history of sexual or physical abuse that I know others have experienced, I had my both parents in my life and a very stable living environment. Sure, I grew up poor (but not in poverty) but I did grow up being bullied towards end of elementary and early junior high — mainly due to gas issues (being called “fart boy”, “fat ass”, “buttlord”, the typical South Park stuff) but also because I didn’t “appear” Puerto Rican enough since I was light skinned and wasn’t super in the culture. Then again, I also had no true understanding of my heritage. My social life consisted of only church folk, no one on the outside of that environment. Although I was interested in venturing outside of the familiar, there was a sense of hesitance because of being in the “safe zone”.
Then high school — zero bullying. I managed to dodge the bullet that every kid in high school tends to get hit with. Sure, I didn’t have a cliq or a group that I’d find myself around on a regular but I was free in that regard. Sometimes I hung around the goth and metalhead group, sometimes with the hip-hop artists, the gaming/anime nerd squad, the ditzy girls (somehow they dug the teddy bear energy) and at random the fellow latinos or the Christian group. Crazy thing was, that sense of not purely belonging did weigh me down a bit but it’s that vagabond way of drifting kept me both safe but also hard to pin. A lot of that hasn’t changed…but it was outside of school where a lot of my sense of feeling lost existed. I had more fun at school around different type of people than I did with typical environment, no matter how safe it deemed itself to be but as life would have it, that changes when you get into adulthood.
Then there was the lukewarm disconnect I’ve had with family. With friends, I’ve always felt a sense of belonging and camaraderie but with my own bloodline, there was often a disconnect. I can’t really fault any of them; it would actually be foolish to do so. There’s a lot the generations before us didn’t know that we now know — things that were considered the norm versus what we see; a lot of nuance that didn’t exist back then because the concept of things beyond beyond black and white were deemed alien. It’s actually immature to make myself a victim because that’s giving those that bullied you or made you feel at a loss live rent-free in your head. You actually make your existence more miserable when you do that.
I also ended up learning the art of dissecting thoughts and emotions; the acknowledging of them existing, why they exist and how they got to exist and if they do (or don’t) hold to reason and/or if there’s anything that can be done about them on a rational level. I ended up learning how many of those thoughts can be discarded, especially the ones that ultimately end up having zero purpose in your life. Over time, it then became the beginning of watching depression loosen its grip on me. It doesn’t;t mean the depression is non-existent; that is foolish wishful thinking. It does mean, however, that I’ve begun to regain control and claim my freedom.
Of course, in the initial 3 months of treatment, things did initially take a turn for medication — financial instability, complexities of the pandemic, eLearning with the kid, my ex-girlfriend breaking up and leaving…all of that had me in an emotional tailspin of frustration and heartbreak. Upon May of 2021, things finally got to where I was gradually being weaned off the Zoloft. Not cold turkey, as my psychiatrist at the time wouldn’t have suggested it but rather gradual just to see how I would react. Thankfully, things went smoothly. In the year that would follow, it came down to addressing boundaries — something I wasn’t truly taught, among many other things. I learned that I gave a pass to too many things — particularly when it came to work, dating and relationships. This also meant learning to build boundaries to where, if some people just weren’t in my wavelength, no matter how amusing they were, they weren’t allowed access in my life. This meant having a currently lonely existence but conversely creating a healthier and safer existence; I’m not around the toxic culture of drugs, alcohol and gang life, which were things my parents wanted me to steer clear of, as they saw people they knew back in PR or in the workplace get wrecked over. I’m glad that in all of my freedom, that’s something I definitely managed to keep away from with zero regret.
When my therapist addressed the issue of discharge, it was something that, among some friends I know and myself, seemed alien. The concept of someone no longer being in active therapy is almost like hieroglyphics to many. She explained to me that the root of discharge is in the fact that every goal that was set for my treatment had been fulfilled. Where I was mentally entering treatment versus now are as big in gap as earth is from the heavens itself. She had equipped me with the tools to do the work to fin myself in a health mindset so that I can independently stay the course. If I ever lost my way, the tools were in front of me but that in the event that something unforeseen were to occur, connection with my mental health provider was strongly recommended, along with other means provided. The mark of a solid therapist is someone willing to teach you and show you the way to be in a better place so that you can be independent ie not depend on the therapist for after-care. This, for me, also went full circle with personal training knowledge — a good trainer help you with your goals but also equips you with the tools necessary to not only accomplish your goals but also with the post-goal skills in order to maintain what you’ve attained without depending on the personal trainer…so if your trainer is stringing you along instead of getting you to your destination while you’re putting in the absolute work…it’s likely they’re trying to maintain that money train instead of truly changing your life. Conversely, if the therapists and trainers are doing their absolute best and you’re not strictly listening to every instruction, then it’s not on them, it’s all on you.
So where does this leave Ronnie Gonzalez and Ron322? The best way I can explain it is this way — depression and anxiety are twin siblings that are always going to exist in my life. The difference now is that instead of them having a kung fu grip, they are being filtered and constantly put to scrutiny. When depression shows up, I address it with ferocity. You simply cannot let it have its way with you. You acknowledge it but ultimately not give it access to dominate you, especially if the thoughts and moods are rooted in things that honestly are outside of reason. The same goes with anxiety. Sure it’s okay to cry or scream a bit but eventually, it must be discarded. The strangest thing for me…is that there’s a sense of emotional detachment I feel towards those sad or anxious thoughts. Some would say that’s troublesome but for me, it feels like freedom — because instead of them hanging over my head, I’m grasping them by their gonads. For once, that’s a beautiful thing.
“This is the last tear I’ll ever shed.” – Griffith, Berserk Golden Age III: The Advent
