To me depression is like being underwater in winter clothes, except you can breathe… mostly. It clings to you, dragging you down, making every movement a supreme effort. Noises are oddly muffled or painfully loud and don’t always make sense. And no matter how many people are around, you’re alone… completely alone.
We used to travel across Canada when I was a child and I vividly remember the tunnels through the mountains. You’d see them in the distance, a circle of blackness drawing closer, distinct against the brightness of the day. And then the blackness would swallow everything. The tunnel was grey monotony, punctuated by identical dull lights. No way to judge distance… no way to tell how long was left. It felt like forever until suddenly blue sky appeared ahead, and once out, the tunnel no longer seemed real.
Depression clings and says it’s forever, showing no sign of a way out. It whispers in your ears and tells you that you’re alone, no one could understand. It claims life is hopeless and that you have no future.
Just like the tunnel, depression doesn’t last forever. Eventually there’s a glimpse of blue sky and suddenly you’re in fresh air and sunshine, taking deep breaths and listening to the wind through the trees. More importantly, you are not alone in this world. You are never alone.
Reaching out while depressed is one of the hardest things imaginable but please, try. No matter what depression says, there are people who care. They might not be the people who are immediately around you but they are there and they will help.
I’ve told my children repeatedly that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Yes it ends the pain but it also ends everything else. It ends the warmth of early morning sunshine streaming across your cheeks… spring birdsong… the cool sweetness of an ice cream cone… arms wrapped around you in a hug… how bright the stars are on a crisp winter’s night… the smell of wood smoke… the gooey warmth of a melted marshmallow… the rasp of a kitten’s tongue.
My nephews would have had an aunt except she killed herself when her marriage ended, years before they were alive. She never got to see her brother marry my sister… never got to marvel over their oldest son when he was born… or comfort and hold her brother when her nephew almost died of meningitis when he was a few weeks old. She missed seeing them buy their first house… every Christmas… every birthday… every camping trip. She’s missed her youngest nephew’s wild gymnastics moves and trampoline stunts.
It’s been over twenty years now. She missed every possibility of moving on from her husband and every chance of finding someone new. She missed the chance of having children of her own and watching them play with her nephews… every chance of watching her parents cradling her babies. Yes, she was depressed, but it wasn’t twenty years worth of depression. Depression claims it’s forever. IT LIES. Death is forever, depression is a loud and painful bump on the road by comparison.
Reach out for help. If you find it too hard to call then reach out by text or email. Remember, you don’t necessarily have to talk. The first time I was majorly depressed, I sat in my doctor’s office and cried. They’ve seen it all, I still walked out with a prescription for anti-depressants.
Just, please. You are unique, you are treasured, and you will be missed. Give yourself a chance.