Over the last few months, I have been preparing for a speaking engagement I have coming up next week at my local church. I’ve been gathering my thoughts and writing out words to say to a group of teenagers about Identity. And it’s been a cathartic process for myself. A healing process. And if it weren’t for the time I’ve spent preparing for this lesson, I would not be able to write what comes next. It’s been hard for me to reckon a discussion about identity without bringing into the light what has been hidden. And unfortunately, the events in the news the last few days about the suicides of two prominent cultural figures has my mind churning.
We’ve seen far too much tragedy lately and often I’m at a loss for what to say or how to respond to most of them. But this week, after these deaths and the staggering figures about how many deaths occur because of suicide. It’s frightening how so few are talked about. I’m finding myself deep in thought and, unlike the other aforementioned tragedies, I have so many words to say.
I’m not particularly overwhelmed by the deaths of Kate Spade or Anthony Bourdain because I was invested in their brands, rather I have very little knowledge of either one. I only recently had listened to the episode of “How I made this” an NPR podcast, that featured Spade and her husband and the story of how they started the company so famously known and I found myself admiring her business mind, but I found it a little odd that her success wasn’t driven by passion. For Bourdain, I’ve only seen a few episodes of one of his many shows and I remember they made me laugh. His ball-busting attitude mixed with what I think was a genuine desire to make and embrace experiences that would improve the world, was so refreshing.
But instead of words about these people, I have words about the mental health and the depression they both suffered from. This cuts too close and very deep.
Many social media posts are about checking in with your friends, but I haven’t seen one yet where someone has opened up about their own struggle. So I will give a voice to it. Over the last few months, I’ve only begun to accept it myself and have only openly talked about it with a few close friends, but I suffer from depression. It’s not the first time I’ve felt a strong depression. If I really evaluate my life, it’s more like the 4th time. But I denied the 2nd and 3rd rounds. The last 18 months have been my worst. I truly thank God, because suicide has never crossed my mind. Please let me repeat to my family and anyone close to me, suicide isn’t an option for me and has never been. But I won’t deny that many days have been dark and gruesome.
Before I go too far here is a caveat–my words are only about depression. I recognize that mental health issues span much farther beyond depression and need to be talked about openly, but I do not have the experience at which to talk about it.
Whenever I hear stories of people with depression, I don’t particularly notice patterns to why it begins. The only common thing I see is that no one is usually aware of when the depression started, it just slowly became a part of everyday living. The lack of a pattern means there also aren’t formulas for someone to heal from this either. Depression is unique to each sufferer. Each person will have their own response, their own attitude, their own coping mechanisms, their own outbursts. Some have depression because of traumatic life experiences, for some it’s hereditary, and others are the simply the unlucky ones. This is a classic case of why not to judge a book by its cover. We can’t compare apples to apples here.
From both sides, people stay quiet about depression. Avoidance of awkwardness is often viewed best. My opinion is of why suffers don’t speak of what they’re suffering from is that when you have something so unique and personal it’s easier to not speak of it to avoid the malformed interpretations and advice on how to overcome. And on the other side of the coin, non-sufferers don’t understand. It’s hard to comprehend the depths of which depression can go. This adds to why mental health is one of the least talked about diseases.
I recognized in high school I had depression, but even then, when exactly did it start? I don’t know. I didn’t talk about it, I didn’t let it stop me and I eventually felt better. A few other times I had drawn out longer periods of sadness, anxiety, loneliness. But again, it eventually ended on its own. This time I denied it for a while because I was taking unrelated medication and I was warned that one of the side effects could be increased feelings of depression. Long after the medication stopped the side effects didn’t. And life got harder.
I wear my emotions on my sleeve so in some ways my unhappiness and my affected attitude and demeanor have been apparent to those who see me in the day-to-day. But that is truly a small number who see me daily. For the rest, I’ve done well to hide my depression behind busy schedules, by saying I’m not feeling well or by withdrawing from activities and commitments. In some ways I know I’ve thrown up red flags for people to notice, but that has gone by without notice. The few suspects out there were then quickly covered up with the delusions that all is well. For example, I met with a friend who is one of the most trusted people in my life and one whom I’ve shared with more than most. I was describing a situation I was struggling with and weighing out some options. I mention that it didn’t help the situation that this has been one of my most difficult years ever. Thankfully she stopped me to ask what I meant. An hour and so many tears later, she had a better picture. She even recognized that she was close to me and had no idea.
For me, the last 18months has looked like someone in mourning, because I have been. I’ve had some major losses –of opportunities and of people– that have felt like deaths occurred. Some friendships have barely survived. My identity has been assaulted. There have been days when I wanted to sleep and sleep and sleep. There have been bursts of anger. There been days I couldn’t stop crying. I’ve eliminated nearly every external commitment I have, besides my job. There’s been anxiety attacks, and sleepless nights. My body is rebelling in multiple ways. I live alone and can easily escape when I want to but I’m consciously making myself engage in some social activity, only to be a shell of a person when I’m there. I worry I’m too emotional for my friends, to distant from my family and too mean to my co-workers, when in reality I’m just trying to hold my shit together in one way or another every tiring minute. My thoughts are a constant contradiction of what I want and what I don’t want. The 18 months have had me questioning my capabilities and my strengths. It’s tested my faith and commitment to Christ. I have evaluated whether to give up going after hopes and dreams. That’s one of the toughest parts, is feeling like maybe I have to settle for this.
But you know what, I’m still here and I know I’m as strong as anyone and I’m still fighting. Inch by inch, blood on my face, on my knees in the mud, but I’m still fighting. If you know me, I have big dreams, big plans, and I’m not usually afraid to do hard things. So I keep moving towards them, some days more slowly than others. And I’m giving myself the grace to take all the time I need to heal, through the guidance of a select few friends and professionals. And I’m so grateful that I did have a deep foundation in a relationship with Christ because it’s steadfast and it has broken through to the darkest of place.
I’m intrigued that social media posts have highlighted that these recent deaths have been the least likely people. The ones who made others smile and feel valued, the ones who looked from the outside that they were pushing forward with fierce tenacity. I don’t for a second doubt their tenacity, because this is a tough battle. But I also agree with the comments that the strongest people still need support systems too. I know, because I’ve been told, that people see me as resilient and indestructible, yet I can feel so much the opposite of these. Let me just say when positions and authority, or persons and attitudes are idolized, this is a failure to recognize things hidden in the dark that one way or another will come into the light.
In my opinion, Depression sufferers want people to know what’s happening and would like help, but let’s be honest… Not everyone is safe to share our feelings with, nor is everyone deserving to know our business. (Don’t be offended if I don’t offer any more of my story beyond this post) Everyone cannot be the help we get. But hearing phrases like “Happiness is a choice” or “snap out of it” is particularly unhelpful.
But rather than tell you what’s unhelpful to someone with depression, let me tell you what is helpful from my experience. Be aware of changes in patterns, appearance, attitudes, and how frequently you see someone. This could mean life or death. Be willing to ask tough questions (no matter how much both sides hate it), but then have the ability to shut up long enough to hear the answers. Do the work to figure out how a depression sufferer feels love the most, then do that. If they need words, give them words. If they’d need their dishes washed, then grab a sponge. Depression sufferers have contradictory thoughts, emotions, and actions in our best attempts to sort it out- pointing out the contradictions every two minutes grows old fast. Do pick up a phone and call or text, or better yet, just show up. Everyone has to eat, so share a meal with them. Remember it’s not about you–which means two things; don’t nullify their experience by saying the same thing has happened to you, and their problems are not yours to own, solve, or carry the burden of. If you did play a role somewhere in this own what’s yours and apologize if necessary. Allow everyone to feel loved and worthy. Make a space for the discomfort.
By sharing this all I feel a little lighter, and I hope it adds another voice to a very quiet topic. If you know anyone who suffers from depression, don’t just throw a 1-800 number out there to them. Please, be willing to get in the trenches. Thank you.
