A Depression Story: Keeping It Real by Anonymous/Unnamed

Bubbly, vivacious, optimistic, cheerful - at one time hearing those words describe me would have had me rolling in laughter, if it didn’t bring me so close to tears.

It was a lie, you know, this image that I’d acquired. I was none of those things. Not below the surface. But the surface is all I let most people see. I still don’t let many people in to the deep dark world behind the curtain. There are too many skeletons lurking there for me to reveal the depths of my secrets.

Besides there’s never a real good conversation segue for “Yeah, I attempted suicide…”

Oh, I’ll talk about all kinds of luridly private things. I’ve shared more than I care to admit on close forums and mailing groups over the years. Sex & Drugs, I’ve got stories aplenty. But I never, never talk about that!

The transparency and honesty I value in every aspect of my business life, do not breach the wall of silence. Unless, like here, I can remain anonymous. Unnamed.

The truth is I could be anyone. There are legions of silent survivors who don’t name the pain of their pasts. It takes people stronger than I to push back the curtain and reveal their name and the disease that plagues us.

Depression.

It’s an ugly sounding word. It’s even worse to live through. It wraps its tentacles around you, leaving you immobilized with a grief so powerful that hope seems like a forgotten dream.

Even though there’s no apparent reason to grieve.

Even when things should be filled with rays of sunshine.

The darkness reigns over everything. I was, when in the grips of the final episode that led to hospitalization, medication and finally lasting help - literally, drowning under the deluge of the little black rain cloud that never abated.

I wanted to sleep all day. I couldn’t face simple tasks, like washing the dishes or mopping the floor, without succumbing to total exhaustion. Some days, the good days, I managed to accomplish the basics of self-care. Too often I hid behind my computer screen and keyboard, rather than face the reality of my condition.

My episodes are years in the past, hardly a flicker on the horizon of who I have become since. Though the feelings threatened to engulf me then still rear their ugly head from time to time. You can’t outrun depression, only manage it.

It took drastic measures to end the insanity.

It was insanity. It was a chemical imbalance of unknown origins. And that’s likely why it’s so hard to go back and connect the dots and own up to having been there. It’s a mental illness.

You can yap at me all day about how things have changed in society about our perceptions of mental illness. There’s still a stigma there. There’s still a perception, however minuet, that the afflicted must’ve caused it in some way.

In some circles, you’ll still hear whispers that it’s a soul issue or worse yet - a manifestation of unresolved sin. I am grateful, at times, that my last episode occurred before I became a Christian.

Reading what some groups have said about the spiritual aspects of depression and some of the shallow, unhelpful advice that is shared, I fear that I may have turned from God or turned up dead if
I had read the same things back then.

As it was, I came perilously close to dead.

They say such things are a cry for help.

Perhaps that is true, but let me tell you - I wanted to die.

It wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t a whim. I wanted to end it. I wanted to be free of the pain of living a hopeless shell of a life. I wanted silence. I wanted to put an end to the persistent circular thoughts that nagged at me every single day.

Instead I got a ride in an ambulance and a chance to rebuild my life.

At the time I was angry. Angry that I failed! I spent hours, if not days, beating myself up that I couldn’t succeed even at that.

Eventually, the medication kicked in.

It wasn’t an overnight transition, though in some ways it felt like it was. Within a week I could look at my kitchen, see what needed doing and make a concrete plan for tackling it. Shortly after that, I regained the energy to actually follow through. It took time.

And a few stumbles along the way.

I still occasionally feel a lingering dread in the recesses of my mind. The difference is now I know how to identify what’s wrong and now I know what resources are available if I do slip again.

When you feel the darkness, it must be confronted. This can’t be attempted alone. You need support to get through. Good friends, a good therapist - it depends on your personality and situation, but know that it is healthy to reach out and ask others for the strength you need.

I’m healthier now.

Though I don’t live under the illusion that I’m cured. I remain vigilant, but calmly confident that depression will never drag me to the unspeakable depths again.

The smiles I share are real. I am optimistic. I am full of joie de vivre. Though I speak little of the depths and hide my history from the masses, living through the darkness has helped me embrace the light and the good in the world.

Even if you can’t see or perhaps even fathom the hope. It’s there. It’s waiting for you to find it. If you find any of the feelings I’ve shared similar to your own, take a step today and call someone. It could save your life - and no matter what you believe right now in this moment - your life is worth saving.