I had dinner the other night with a
friend that is relatively new to this depression life. Not new to living with
depression, but new to understanding it, claiming it, working on it. Its always
interesting to hear someone’s take on anything new. In any situation, a pair of
fresh eyes can open up a whole new perspective. She had recently started taking
anti-depressants, and she said they were helping.
“But I noticed something,” she
said.
“What?” I asked.
“Well, since I got on the
medication, it’s like I’m looking at life through a periscope. In the circle in
the middle is normal life. I can see it, participate in in it, and understand
the difference between depression and what, in my mind anyway, everyone else was
feeling and doing. I can stay there for a while. But I must keep my eyes on the
circle. Because just beyond it is the cloud. I can see it too, in my peripheral
vision. It’s always there, waiting for me to lose focus on the circle and rush
back in.”
“Wow,” I said, sitting back. “That
is maybe the most accurate description I’ve ever heard of what depression is
like.”
“Does that ever go away?” she
asked. “Like, after I’ve been on it awhile, is it easier to stay focused on the
periscope view? Or is the fog always there?”
I thought about it. I wanted to lie
to her. Tell her it does get easier, more effortless. Some days it feels more
effortless. Some days it feels really hard. Some days the fog obscures the
circle.
“Not in my experience,” I said.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could say it does. Anti-depressants don’t make the
depression go away, at least not for me. It just makes me more able to
recognize it. It clears up the fog, to follow your analogy. I can tell the
difference now, and I am better at keeping the fog outside the circle. But it’s
always there, and I have to work all the time to keep it outside my view. If I
slip, it comes rushing back in and you have to clear it out again.”
“Well,” she said with a note of
irony, “That’s fucking exhausting.”
Yes. It is.
I don’t tell you this so you’ll
feel sorry for me, or for her, or anyone you know that deals with depression. I
don’t want you to think I’m being dramatic or looking for attention. If I have
your attention, I’d rather it be for my writing or something I’ve accomplished,
not because you feel sorry for me. Depression is not who I am. But it is
something I live with. It colors my normal. It always has. I can look back, now
that I’ve been through (and continue to do) a lot of therapy and have found a
medication that works for me, and see that I probably should have been aware of
it all the way back into childhood. It wasn’t something talked about or known
about back then. That’s why I write this. Because it’s Mental Health Awareness
month and being aware begins with being honest. I have depression. Millions of
us do.
Sometimes I have no reason for
being down. I’ve always been prone to bouts of emotion. I was told as a child I
would grow out of it, but I never did. I internalized that for many years. I thought
I just wasn’t growing up like I should, or I was too emotional, or broken,
doing it wrong somehow. Sometimes staying in the “normal” periscope takes
everything I have. I’m putting on a happy face, for myself and others. Then
when it all collapses people are shocked, disappointed, and disbelieving that
it has been that hard for that long. Because we don’t talk about it. That isn't to say that people with depression don’t have real reasons for their emotions.
We do. We have life’s ups and downs just like everyone else. We have hard
marriages, job struggles, insecurities – all the things everyone else in the
world deals with. Some of our darker times may come from very real things. But
most likely, even when those things happen, we’re better at hiding it. We’re
masters at hiding what’s bothering us or that things are hard. We often can’t
explain just then why it's hard. How do you explain something you don’t have
words for? The fear of being a broken record sometimes keeps us from sharing.
No one wants to be the one who always has drama. There have been many times I
said nothing, or said I was “fine”, because I’ve already talked about what’s
going on. I often feel it must be exhausting to be in my life. From talking to
others who battle, I know that’s a common feeling.
So yeah, it’s fucking hard. Sometimes harder than others. Some days it's not as hard. But I’ve come to realize that
much of what makes me, well, me, comes from the truth that it isn’t always easy
to be me. I have a great sense of empathy. A little more patience when people
are struggling. A higher tuned antenna to notice when something is not right.
That’s also exhausting by the way, being an empath. We tend to take on others
pain and want to fix it. That’s another blog post and another layer of boundary
therapy. But I’ve come to learn with age and a crap load of counseling that there
isn’t a mistake in the way I was made. The world needs all kinds of people, and
those of us who struggle with the “every day” are sometimes the ones that keep
the extraordinary alive. We are the ones who never grow out of a good song, the
written word, keep our imaginations, keep the colors alive. We write the books
and sing the songs and dance the dance and paint the canvas. We love love, and
joy, and happiness, and tend to over-celebrate them when they come around. But
can you really over-celebrate love? Shouldn’t someone remind the world to be in
love with love?
That creativity, that beauty, comes
with a price. No one asked us if we wanted depression. And thank the Higher
Powers for modern medicine that helps us discern the difference between the fog
and the periscope. But I bet if you ask us, any of us, we wouldn’t change the
creativity and beauty for the “everyday”. It’s what we know. I always seem to
quote Glennon Doyle when I write, because more than any other public figure I
follow, she gets it. One of my favorite quotes of hers is “People ask me why I
cry so often. I say its for the same reason I laugh so often. I’m paying
attention.”
I would not give you back my
depression if it meant I would also lose my love of writing. My hard-won
honesty that does not have time for bullshit. The way I can tell if someone is
hurting. The absolute euphoria that comes from sharing something I created with
the world and knowing it helped someone. The way I feel when I love. I wouldn’t
trade the highs just to get rid of the lows. I would wager none of us would. We
are the creatives. We paint the world and you need us. In some of my darkest
times I have produced the words I am the most proud of.
But it’s also nice to be
understood. To be given a little extra grace on hard days. To have the freedom
to say “I’m going through a rough patch” without fear of labeling or
stigmatizing ourselves. And without trying to be fixed. We’re not broken. So
that’s why I write this. So, you’ll maybe know a little bit more what it’s like
day to day. And for you, reader, that also lives with depression, know you’re
not alone. Do the work. Find a therapist, take meds if it helps, and be honest
with people who love you. We live in a world that is ever changing and becoming
more accepting every day. Don’t lose hope, reach out for the tools available.
It’s fucking exhausting.
I just love saying that because it
is the best way to describe it. Sometimes my brain and emotions and heart
literally JUST NEED A BREAK. When that happens, I’m learning the best ways for
me to cope. I’m learning them all over again because this journey doesn’t end.
You will have different things that help at different times in your path. But we
can do it. I know that we can.
Periscope living is not for the
weak, that’s why I know how very strong we really are.
