Dysthymia Means Depression

My name is William Henry Tucker and I live every day with mental illness in a small town in Northern Minnesota. Most of us live with some kind of mental illness. Once upon a time, not so long ago, we hid away, not admitting to it, fighting the symptoms in the dark, alone.

I have been diagnosed with Dysthymia, which is a form of depression without a specific cause, and with Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I have always had some form of depression. It would be most obvious and severe at Christmas, when the depression and anxiety over the holiday would combine to make me angry. Anger is how my anxiety sometimes shows itself. At these times, when I was younger, my family wouldn’t know what to do with me, so I was squirreled away to my room to sit out the festivities in silence, in the dark, alone.

This was in the 1970s, long before any modern understanding or empathy for the most severe of mental illness existed. I had relatively mild mental illness. Still, it’s been a challenge over the years. My mother, who didn’t understand my condition, bought in to my sister’s theory that all I needed was a family. Perhaps she was right. My sister, with whom I lived for eight years, never considered me mentally ill. To her, I was just a misunderstood child. And, at times, I needed to be controlled.

Dysthymia means depression like mine has no cause and can be frustrating and overwhelming. I can’t simply “get over it.” There is a heaviness to life in general for me. Sometimes, the depression has left me bedridden. It colors every day and, especially, every night. I fight against the symptoms during the day. At night, I hope to sleep and to dream of better days.

To combat the dysthymia, I write. I have written two fiction books, Widow’s Creek and Heavens to Betsy. And I have co-authored another novel as well as numerous short stories. I have had one of these short stories turned into a short film, The Thing in the Tub. This was thanks to my collaboration with Roy C. Booth. Writing helps me focus on something besides the darker aspects of my illness. It’s proven to be a good creative outlet. It’s better by far than thinking dark thoughts.

I live alone. I don’t drink, though I am an alcoholic. I don’t do any drugs except those prescribed. I live with a heart condition which also slows me down. I’m in my mid-fifties and currently not working. I’ve lived in Seattle, Washington and I’ve lived in Mesa, Arizona. After my travels, I returned to live in Grand Rapids, which is in Itasca County, Minnesota. It’s a small town, but it has a strong support community for those living with mental illness. We have Northland Counseling Center, which has been here since the seventies. We have Kiesler Wellness Center, which not only helps those struggling with mental illness, but with other health concerns, as well as living an independent life. I have discovered that, like Judy Garland’s character in The Wizard of Oz, “there’s no place like home.”