The Defeat of Depression
Depression, is this insidious spectre
that draws the light from our eyes, the joy from our dreams, ties a
spiked chain around our heart and squeezes, pulling us down until our
knees buckle and we can't breathe. And then it doesn't even let us
die.
I've heard so many shitty half-assed
analogies for depression. I feel like that one is at least fairly
accurate.
I lived with that soul crushing, laying
awake at night, crying until you feel like your eyes ran dry
Depression for years. I just kept hoping that something bad would
happen to me and end it all. I even made some halfhearted attempts a
couple times.
Now, I'm not writing this because I
think my story or pain is in any way unique. You may have suffered
more, or just suffered differently than I have.
What this is
is about my struggle with the agony of depression, and how I fought
through it.
And the real agony is not in the pain,
not the current pain anyway. It's the way the pain wears you down
over time. This anchor tied to your ribs and digging deeper into the
pavement behind you as you try to trudge through each day. And life
just looks like this endless uphill trek with this heavy anchor on
your back, this nausea in your stomach, this constricting pain in
your chest that after a while you just fear that it's never going to
go away. That life will just go on like this forever. Until hopefully
one day it just stops.
Death has been described as a release.
For those with this sort of soul crushing depression, it becomes the
Patron Saint of Oblivion. Just... nothing. No more long days. No more
dragging that anchor. No more tomorrows just like yesterday. No more
pain.
I'm not a doctor. I have to say that
for liability purposes. I can't offer to 'treat' you. I can only
share my story, and you can choose whether or not it's of any use to
you.
Like so many other depressed people, I
was a writer. I had stacks of half finished stories. 3-4 chapters of
a novel that I'd likely never finish. Poems. Sometimes just words.
Thoughts. Of either my own or some character of mine. There's boxes
of these laying around my house. They're still my most prized
possessions to this day.
It was cold, as only living up North in
sight of the lake can be. I remember staring out of my window in my
drafty apartment, the smell of kerosene from the heater in the wall
hanging faintly in the air. The hiss of that kerosene heater would be
what would lull me to sleep just as dawn rose after a long night of
staring at the ceiling and thinking of all the ways that life had
been unfair to me.
Ah yes, that window. Staring across the
street to the often brown, choppy waters of Lake Erie, with the white
crests that signaled another coming storm. Ice had formed along the
shore. You could walk a good thirty feet out onto the water without
falling in. When you walked out on it, the water was clearer than you
had ever seen it. It looked almost blue. There's a stillness to
winter up north that reminds you of how close that cold can bring you
to death. When your nose goes numb and a deep breath hurts.
But there's a tranquility to it. A
place for somber reflection. In that nearly clear water I found
myself wondering if I just jumped in, would I drown, or freeze to
death first? The idea of drowning terrified me. But freezing to death
seemed a much easier way to go. I didn't know if they'd ever find my
body. It might be easier that way. My family had always been poor and
I didn't want them to have to figure out how to pay for my funeral.
Back in my drafty, wooden apartment,
standing on carpet quite a bit older than I was, I realized one
thing. If I died, I wouldn't be remembered. There would be a brief,
sad service. Words like 'potential' and 'regrettable' would be used.
And that would be it. A few angry friends and heart heavy family
members would occasionally visit the stone that marked my passing.
And that would be it.
I thumbed through my old notebooks and
looked through all of the half finished stories.
“What a
waste,” I thought to myself. I'd published a few poems and had a
couple plays taken to stage by this point. But no work to be
remembered by. Nothing that I felt made up for all the time I had
wasted. Of my own, of others. So I decided that I would pick a single
story and write it to it's conclusion.
I had quit acting at this point. I
hated the politics of it. (Still do.) So all I had left to do was
finish this. Then I could end it all. I could leave this world with
at least something marking my passing through it.
And so I found Lilith. Or maybe she
found me. I started researching her legend in any book I could find.
(I still used libraries for most of my research. Still do, in fact.)
I wrote down copious notes and began weaving them into scenes. I
started putting these scenes together. I kept writing.
I'd like to say that things turned
around for me quickly after that. But I kept staring at the ceiling
and hating my life. I kept breaking down in tears when I just
couldn't hold back any longer. (I would, at least once a night, lock
myself in a bathroom at the far end of the building I worked at and
fall upon the dirty floor and weep. I would just unload the flood
gates, dust myself off, and go back to work, now able to pass off a
semblance of normalcy.)
In the midst of my writing I focused
on deceased loved ones, lost opportunities, failed relationships and
how I didn't feel that I had at all been given a fair shake at life.
(During this time I also learned that a lover of mine committed
suicide. Months after the fact. That is another story, but it didn't
help my state of mind much.)
Eventually friends of mine,
knowing of my background in theatre, convinced me to join their group
of circus performers. They were small shows at the college and for
local family events. I took to it quickly and appreciated the joy of
it all. From them I learned to juggle and breathe fire. I learned poi
spinning. I learned to laugh again.
Still, the sadness did not abate. In
the still of the night, when I was all alone, that ghost returned to
remind me of all the ways in which I was unhappy.
“But my life isn't that bad! I know
it isn't!” I argued.
But that didn't matter. There was
something broken in me. I was still sad anyway. Depression just hung
over, silently; a cloud of crushing despair.
Then I found anger.
I had a page to write. I had a book to
read. I had training to do. I had a show to put on. People were
counting on me.
Yes, they were often small shows. I'm not
making any claims to fame or glory here. Merely that I had a group
who I had made a commitment to, and who seemed to enjoy my
involvement. I was very happy for their company and for the
opportunity to perform onstage again, albeit in a much different
format than before.
And thus the cycle continued. Bouts of
happiness, camaraderie and brief feelings of accomplishment; followed
by bitter disappointment and soul crushing despair. It would come
from nowhere like a sledgehammer to the gut. And at one time to the
face. (Again, another story...) I was filled with despair and horror
that this awful feeling had returned. I was a clown! I was a
performer! I had no reason to be sad anymore!
And I would wail inside “I thought
you were gone!”
“From me?” Depression said. “What
gives you the right?”
And I would break again, crumbling into
despondency. The glimmer of the hope of joy stripped away and me left
shaking on the ground, sobbing and wondering why.
I sought counseling, but found the same
repetition of my own thoughts unhelpful. There was some insight, but
I wasn't getting 'better.' I tried drinking. Oh, did I try drinking.
But the hollowness never went away.
Then I tried something else. I tried
shifting my thoughts.
This was something that had been
germinating in my mind for some time. At first it was to focus on my
writing. Then it was to focus on my reading and research. While my
mind was occupied with something else, it was harder to be sad. I
would watch movies and even goofy videos online. I'd play board games
with friends, or video games on my own. Some of this was a brief
escape, but it got my mind going in the right direction.
I would catch my mind wandering to the
sadness, and I would quickly try to 'changes stations.' Think about
anything other than those sad thoughts; a book, a movie, a bad joke,
a video game, anything. Training and exercise helped. When nothing
else worked, I'd just get mad at myself for thinking these stupid
things. It's not perfect, but anger was better than depression in my
mind. That, and it's harder to stay angry for a long period of time
than it is to stay sad. I could exhaust myself to neutrality.
It was a slow process, and I would
stumble often. I would fall back into the self-loathing and despair
more times than I can recall. I fell into an emotionally and mentally
abusive relationship that I stayed in far too long because I honestly
didn't think I could do any better.
I finished my book, then proceeded to
be turned down by every publisher and agent I could find. I moved to
New Orleans and went to dozens of auditions waiting for calls that
never came. Dejection and anguish clawed at ever fiber of my being.
But I kept getting angry inside, I kept changing channels and finding
something else to focus on.
During this relationship, I did get on
antidepressants for a brief time. They work for some people, and they
helped take the edge off for me. And they may keep someone aloft when
needed. But I believed the problem was deeper. It was inside me, and
I wanted to fix it. I didn't want a pill that just made me feel 'less
sad.' I wanted to rise above the melancholy that had held onto me for
so long.
So I kept on. I kept trying. I kept
training. I kept writing, and acting and sending out to publishers
that I knew would never take me, until finally, I got published. I
booked work as an actor. I got out of a bad relationship. I started
to believe in myself.
And still, Depression would come back.
But I was ready.
“I don't want to think about you
right now, I'm going to think about something else.” Cue online
videos, writing, reading, exercising, training, watching
instructional videos, auditioning, going out with friends, or just
thinking about things that make me happy.
Depression would return.
“FUCK YOU!” I'd scream inside of
me, like I was some Anime character channeling the energy of
'Fuck-Off' all around my being. And I'd go knock out push-ups, I
write something in a journal and leave those awful thoughts there,
I'd go for a walk, I'd call a friend.
I'd do something.
And that's what mattered. Not what I
did specifically, but that I did something. That I kept finding
reasons to be. That I kept allowing myself to exist and kept
exploring what interested me. That I embraced the people that made my
life better by being in it, and lost touch with the people that tried
to bring me down. (This sometimes had to include business contacts
and even talent agents.)
I kept changing channels. I kept
getting angry. I kept reading. I kept writing. I kept working out.
And he still comes back. Depression is
always lurking around the corner.
But now, years later, I've got too much
left I want to do. I still love video games, although I have precious
time for them right now. But if they help you change the channel, do
it. Do anything that gets your mind going, your heart racing, that
makes you happy that doesn't damage you or the world around you.
And you can defeat Depression.
I know it's not a one time victory. And
you will feel like you are losing many, many times before you feel
like you're winning.
But I want you to look down that
endless, gray, jagged road ahead and think about the times you are
going to kick depression's ass, and smile. Because it's going to
happen. Force yourself to smile until you believe it.
I was weak. I was pathetic. I had
no reason to be on this planet anymore.
Only none of that was true. Not now,
and not then. And it's not true for you either. That's Depression
talking. So get mad, change channels, and kick Depression in the
balls.
Keep fighting. Keep exploring this
wonderful world. Keep finding outlets and interests in this world
that fulfill you. Yes, it's a struggle, but that struggle is life.
And I smile now, and I want you to stand here and smile with me, and
kick Depression every time he returns.
Keep fighting.
Keep fighting.
Keeping being, and discovering and fighting some more to be who you are.
You're worth it. I promise.
