Letting the Light Shine In

Dusting off this long (and quickly) abandoned blog, to come out, publicly. I am living with clinical depression.

There. I said it.

This is frightening, for me, because I've always been wary of the effect it could have on me, professionally. Yes depression is protected by the Americans With Disabilities Act, but, let's face it, management has plenty of ways around that, no matter where or who you are. So, I've always been reluctant to make a permanent, public statement, regarding this private matter. But, it shouldn't be that way, which is exactly why I need to do this. Now.

I've never been a big Robin Williams fan. Oh, sure, I loved Mork and Mindy, when I was ten. I enjoyed several of his films - Garp, Dead Poets, Fisher King, Awakenings. Most of the time, though, he was just too over the top, for me. I respected his talent, however, and related to his struggle, so the news of his suicide evoked a sense loss, of a comrade in arms.

And then, the inevitable flood of new stories, tributes, and comments. Oh, the comments. I knew I should have stepped away from social media, for a while, but, for whatever fool reason, I didn't.

"Suicide is selfish."
"I don't understand."
"How could he choose to throw away God's most precious gift?"
"I don't understand."
"He had so much to live for, always bringing joy. How could he do that to his family?"
"I don't understand."

I understand.

I understand that it is not a choice, and it is not a selfish act. I understand, because I have struggled with intrusive ideations for over twenty years, a steady, flowing stream of irrational, negative thought.

"I am worthless. I am a colossal fuck-up. I am a burden on everyone I know. I am a waste of space. Worthless. Fuck-up. Burden. Waste. Worthless. Fuck-up. Burden. Waste."

Most of the time, I can filter the stream. When I'm relatively healthy, I can identify the irrational thoughts, and counter them, keeping the stream contained, living my life, outwardly appearing normal. "Not worthless. I have value. I make meaningful contributions to my world." But the stream is always there, flowing steadily through my mind.

Inevitably, storms come along, in varying forms. Sometimes, I can see it coming, and brace myself for it. Other times, it blindsides me. Sometimes, I don't recognize it, until I'm already engulfed. The storm floods the little stream, turning it into a raging river, overwhelming my filters, and I get sucked down into the vortex, where the irrational thoughts swirl freely.

When a storm blows through, it doesn't matter how successful I am, how happy I am, how much my family loves me, how smoothly my life is going. Everything becomes impossibly dark. I feel like I'm wearing an iron suit, heavy and impenatrable. Making a cup of tea is overwhelming and entirely too complex. Talking on the phone is unbearable. And the intrusive ideations become gospel truth, unchallenged.

Worthless. Fuck-up. Burden. Waste.

It's not a matter of being sad. It's a matter of being swallowed up by darkness, unable to see a way out.

This.

This is what people can't understand, unless they've experienced it, themselves. It's not rational thinking. It's not something that can be snapped out of, by will. You need a lifeline, dropped into your hands, to pull back out. The problem is that the lifeline is always changing, differing from person to person, episode to episode. There's no way of knowing what it will take.

Sometimes, it's a kind word, from just the right person, at just the right time. Sometimes, it's a bowl of ice cream. Sometimes, it's a crisis, happening to someone else. Sometimes, it's going for a run. Sometimes, it's a good sleep, or a change in weather. Sometimes, it's all of this, and more, or none of it.

Therapy and medication can help, but not always. They are tools you can use, but they can be difficult to access. Finances, insurance, availabilty, transportation, time, employment, childcare, indifference, or even just picking up the phone can become insurmountable obstacles.

So, I have multiple tools in my toolbox. Cognitive behavioral therapy. Meds. Clean diet. Journaling. Mindfulness meditation. Running. Sleep hygiene. Church. Work. Volunteering. Family. A trusted friend. But, I never allow myself to think that I am safe. The storms are always looming, always a threat, and I know there is the possibility that all the tools I have won't be enough, that the right lifeline might not come in time.

Depression is not an attitude problem. It is a disease of the brain. It can be fatal. It affects an estimated 10% of the population. It is a major cause of disability and lost productivity. How is it possible that it is so tragically misunderstood, undertreated, and stigmatized? Why do those of us living with recurrent depression fear exposure, face blistering criticism from the ignorant, and endure so many challenges to getting any meaningful help?

This. Must. Change.

Change requires awareness. Awareness requires exposure. And so, I am exposing myself.

I am living with clinical depression. Every day. Let the light shine in.