I find that the words do not come as easily the second time around. This blog topic may take me more than a day to tackle (and it did), even if it only results in one single post, not simply because of the girth of information which I can (and may attempt to) integrate into this post, but because of all the topics I can choose to discuss, this one hits closer to home than any other, and I have never felt more of a need to censor—and even that word seems inadequate—my word choice. What I really want is to make sure, with each individual word, that I am making the proper choice to express myself.
We are taught by some of the best writers to write what we know—and I am a firm believer in this. This allows the writer to provide experience which then allows their writing to resonate with a genuineness, occasionally subtle, sometimes almost palpable in its nature. Honesty between writer and reader builds not only a relationship of trust and respect, but also in some cases can allow the reader a glimpse into first-hand accounts of topics which would otherwise remain shrouded in a certain degree of secrecy and unfamiliarity to them.
In a world populated so immensely by social media websites which insist upon the sharing of mundane bits of one’s daily activities, I occasionally wonder if we have become somewhat crippled in our ability to share the more important things. People often seem to be torn between two extremes: whether or not they should share EVERYTHING (and let’s be honest, the correct answer is no; your sushi lunch may have been delicious, but we are really not that interested in how #yummy it was) or share virtually nothing, as everyone ELSE seems to be oversharing. Again, the answer is no—there is always something to be said or shown, and always someone willing to listen.
And that is one of the most important things I could possibly say, as today I’m going to talk about depression. Depression is never an easy topic to discuss—we shy away from it so frequently, because that’s easier than facing the grim reality that is this mental illness. I’ve heard countless mentions from someone whose recollections about her upbringing are sprinkled with what she now recognizes to be glaring signs of this same disease in her mother. It was, she tells me, completely ignored—swept under the rug, cloaked in the darkness of silence, a problem the words for which were known, but knowingly locked away behind the tight lips of society.
I was diagnosed with depression pretty early on in life—as least, it seemed early to me. My struggles seemed normal in the face of youthful ignorance, as well as in the face of the growing pains which we all stumble through in the rougher years of adolescence, that rugged terrain of teenage years. I had no concept that my problems were of a more severe nature, as I was so hesitant to share them. I was blessed, and have continued to be blessed, with a phenomenal support system found in the kind arms, and more often the ears, of friends and family who have been invaluable in my ability to cope. I don’t recall feeling stigmatized by that first diagnosis in my earlier years, mostly because it was not something made public unless I chose to do so—but it did come later, and it hit hard. I felt at times that my depression was an inescapable tenet of my self-identity, a hideous leech that tore and sucked at the flesh of my happiness and comfort, and at times at my sense of self-worth. Even on good days, I would worry that I would carry such a burden for the entirety of my life, a thought terrifying in the enormity of its scope, and a thought which I felt had already been solidified as a reality for my future, with no hope of an alternate route.
There are no green buttons or red levers to pull in the mind that immediately eradicate these thoughts; it is never that simple. Ricky Gervais summed it up in the most perfect of ways on a recent Facebook post: “Telling people with depression to “just snap out of it” is as about as useful as telling people with cancer to “just stop having cancer”.” It’s much easier to ask someone to “cheer up” than it is to face the reality that it isn’t that simple for them. Many people may not recognize that depression can have biological roots, linked with chemical imbalances in the brain, such as that of serotonin, as well as problems with the limbic system and neurotransmitters. Certain distressing emotional episodes can trigger a major depressive episode for some, this is true; but we must recognize that the presence of depression as a disorder is not as simple as thinking someone is upset over a bad day.
I mentioned the difficulties that depression brought into my life. These must be balanced, however, with the immense personal growth which my diagnosis has provided me with, the most important being a recognition that I am not my diagnosis. My depression does not define me as a whole, yet I do not disregard its existence. I own my diagnosis—and am all the stronger for recognizing that my flaws make me who I am, in no way diminishing my value as a person. Properly coping with depression is difficult, that is undeniable—but, as I said, I have been blessed beyond words (although I will try to express myself nonetheless) with the finest and most loving of support groups, who may never know just how important their words and actions are to me. Proper therapy, and in some cases, added medication, can help alleviate the difficulties that depression presents. As someone who has gone through this, I feel the need to remind everyone else going through it that there is always hope out there, and happiness to be had.
This post is not to dampen your day, it’s not to elicit pity in any way for what I have gone through, or for what anyone else goes through on a daily basis when they suffer from depression. In fact, I would like to take this time to remind everyone reading that those who suffer from this disease are not weaker for it. I found an image recently, shared by a friend brave enough to circulate it on her social media site—I hesitate to say brave, as it then makes inescapable the rather unfortunate reality that many wouldn’t share such an image on their Facebook page for fear of some sort of negative judgment on the parts of their friends, again linked with the stigmatized topic of depression. The image starts out with one of the most wonderful summations that I have come across: “Depression, anxiety and panic attacks are not a sign of weakness. They are signs of having tried to remain strong for so long.” It ends with a reminder to the reader to do one of the most important things anyone CAN do for those who struggle: “Let those who struggle know—they are never alone.” In a few brief sentences, this image has taken the negative assumption that those who suffer from depression do so because they lack some sort of strength, either in their soul or their mind, and turned it completely on its head, while reminding everyone—those both familiar and unfamiliar with it—that the most important thing you can do is simply be there for someone. I think we often forget that just because the world is so populated does not mean we are not subject to loneliness and feelings of isolation—and the kindest thing we can do for someone subject to such feelings is to remind them that there is ALWAYS someone there.
As I said, I know such discussions are never easy. But it is my hope that in posting this, and bringing this subject to light once more, we can cast aside the mask of fear and ignorance that has kept so many quiet about such a substantial issue, and take steps—be they small or large—in our daily lives towards a greater understanding of this problem.
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