CARDS ON THE TABLE

I am depressed.

I think some people – even those who know me fairly well – will be surprised by this. I’ll be honest, I was surprised by this.

When my therapist read my depressive disorder diagnosis out loud to me, in the spring of 2019, I made a face. That uncomfortable, half smirk, half confused stare that Charlie Brown always makes when Peppermint Patty says something that throws him off. You know the face. That was my face.

Immediately I thought “Me? No chance.” I’m a few months into weekly therapy sessions at this point so it’s possible my self-awareness was lacking a bit more than it should’ve been, but nevertheless, this diagnosis seemed overblown and dramatic to me. I knew I needed therapy, but I was also pretty certain I wasn’t depressed. And so, I told no one about my diagnosis.

I did, however, tell people I was in therapy. I told anybody who would listen. My whole spiel was always that EVERYONE needs therapy. “It’s so great to just have someone who’s a third party to talk to, and life is hard, so why not if you have the resources?” To me, that felt like normalizing the conversation around mental health and destigmatizing getting help. And yet, I told no one about my diagnosis.

In those sessions, I was unpacking why I’d bend over backwards to keep from being a burden. As a sensitive person, I’d come to learn that usually being overly sensitive turns people off. We’re emotional, we’re needy, we’re too much. And as an adult, that fear of being too much manifested itself into a full-blown mission to be as need-free as possible. I never wanted to make someone else liable for my personal problems, or rely on anybody but myself to get by. Now, you want to talk about a subject that feels like it’s too much for people? DEPRESSION. So, I told no one about my diagnosis.

But therapy was proving to be incredibly helpful for me throughout the course of 2019. I made a lot of progress in understanding what triggered my depression, why I reacted to my feelings of pain and sadness with guilt and shame (looking at you, “good vibes only” culture), and how to show myself grace in my most painful moments. I was learning to accept that in order to feel deep joy and gratitude, I had to allow myself to also sit with sadness. I had a revived sense of self-worth that rested on my opinion of myself, instead of the opinion of others, and I was learning, slowly but surely, to ask for help when I needed it.

I had honestly forgotten about my diagnosis. I did not feel depressed. I felt like I’d become equipped to manage my emotions on my own, so much so that when my therapist went on maternity leave in March of this year, I told her I’d be good without sessions for the duration of her absence. I truly felt like I’d be totally fine. And 10 days later, I was stuck in South Carolina for what should’ve been my brother’s wedding weekend, caring for my mom who had just tested positive for COVID.

Since then, it’s felt so much like I’m alone in the middle of a baseball diamond, attempting to field about 30 line drives of bad news and bullshit, all coming directly for my head at the exact same time. I won’t outline the details of all of them because it doesn’t really matter what they are. Some feel trivial, some feel life-changing, but the combination of these hits has beaten me into the ground.

You know the phrase “check on your strong friends”? I used to be that strong friend, and I used to pride myself on it. It’s hard to believe that title applies to me anymore. I feel weak and tired, and I know it shows. I turn down catch up phone calls with friends regularly – they used to invigorate me and so often now, they exhaust me. My effort at work has waned. I have not worked out consistently since August. I can’t muster the energy, and I know part of that is also because I don’t sleep well anymore. I’m writing this graph at 2am, and I imagine my normal nightly stress dreams await me when I finally hit the pillow. I usually wake up worn-out.

I think my mother fears I cry every day. I’d be lying if I said her worries weren’t justified. Sometimes I cry without understanding the reason why, which only makes me feel more sad. A lot of days, it’s simply the weight of the world – from never knowing how to do enough good to give myself permission to sleep at night. I cry because people I grew up understanding often feel like strangers to me now, and some people who used to like and respect me don’t like and respect me anymore. And lately, I cry because my boyfriend does basically everything right – he takes me on drives to relax, he holds me tight as I stifle sobs, he validates my feelings and buys me ice cream – in return, he gets a sad girlfriend. He deserves a happier me.

All that information … that’s too much for people, right? A depressed person airing their mental dirty laundry puts not-depressed people in such a difficult and uncomfortable spot. Did you want to know that much about me? Probably not. Even if you wanted to fix this for me, I must regretfully inform you that you cannot. And so now I’ve burdened you with being worried about me, which makes me feel like a real jackass, and as I’m sure you guessed, that feeling doesn’t help the depression.

So if not just to make you painfully uncomfortable, what’s my point here? Well, to justify the changes in my mood, behavior, attentiveness, etc. I’ve started to put my cards on the table. I finally named my depression. I’ve stopped responding to friend’s asking “how are you?” with “doing well” if I’m not doing well. I’ve started to explore options, in addition to therapy, to help lighten the load on my psyche. I ask my roommate for a hug when I need one. I’ve gotten real about where I’m at. Sharing my struggle has not only been freeing and validating, but in getting real about myself, I’ve given the people I know permission to be vulnerable with me. And I am so not alone here.

We need to stop being surprised that our strong friends and strong kids and strong coworkers are depressed. There are so many of us out there, wondering when the dark cloud that seems to follow us around will dissipate. We have to stop telling those friends that they need to focus on the good things in life, and find joy in the little moments. We have to stop blindly saying “there’s so much to be happy about.” We need to stop telling them how to fix themselves.

I struggled with how to write the first sentence of this post. Going back and forth between “I suffer from depression”, “I struggle with depression” and “I am depressed” for a while. I settled on the last because I have learned that language really matters in these conversations. Saying I suffer from depression almost places the blame on me, the subject – it’s like I’ve chosen to let this thing have influence over me. And I wrote this knowing I wasn’t saying anything new or groundbreaking, but because I want people who know me personally to understand that depression is not a choice between finding joy in life or not. Depression knocks you on your ass by saying I know you find joy in things, and I’m going to make those things seem unimportant compared to the problems you’ve got, buddy.

When you give “good vibes only” advice to a depressed person about how to be less depressed, you minimize their experience. You fail to recognize that being depressed doesn’t mean we’ve stopped laughing or watching movies that make us feel warm and cozy inside or reading good books to escape. It doesn’t mean we aren’t doing things to combat feelings of sadness, like going to therapy, or taking medication, or going to acupuncture or meditating. We’re still doing what you think we should be doing to help ourselves feel better. It’s just that when you’re depressed, those steps don’t serve as a remedy for sadness.

What you can offer to someone you know is depressed is your support and love, and comfort if they ask for it. Try not to react negatively when they share their sadness with you, or break down unexpectedly in front of you. If you’re not sure what to say in those moments, “I’m here for you” is a pretty solid go-to. Ask people more regularly how they’re doing, and be prepared to really listen. Thinking about a person and if they’re okay? Just text them to say that. Remind them that sharing their struggles and emotions with you doesn’t make them “too much” for you. Be supportive of the steps they are taking to combat their depression. 

For those who come away from reading this feeling especially concerned about me, I truly appreciate you. And I have good news – I didn’t cry today. In 3 days, I managed to write a full-fledged blog post, and that’s giving me a real sense of accomplishment. I’ll try to channel that feeling into a yoga practice this afternoon. I’m about to cuddle up with a book called “More Than Enough”, which has been a good prompt to appreciate my own self-worth. I’m really enjoying my cup of coffee right now. There is still so much I feel incredibly grateful for. I’ve gotten fairly good at showing myself grace and radical self-love in my lowest moments. And I really believe that one day, I will feel much more like myself again.

This post is dedicated to the people who’ve spent so much of the last 10 months holding me, hearing me, and picking me back up. I am reminded regularly that depression makes me no less worthy of love, or respect, or friendship. You know who you are. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for everything.