Lots and lots of people fight depression. I am one of them.
It runs in my family, as do diabetes, heart disease, and big feet. Not much
that can be done about the genetics, but if you know your weaknesses, with
proper care and attention, it’s possible to avoid or overcome these things. (Well,
except for the big feet. For that there is no cure, only acceptance—and cute
shoes.)
Much was written about depression in the wake of Robin
Williams’ suicide, and I’m not sure I have anything new to contribute to the
discussion. That said, I know that writing is therapy for me, and so sometimes I
write to help exorcise my own mental demons. And so, dear reader, welcome to my
therapy session.
One reason that Williams’ death hit all of us so hard is because
it had clearly been such a long struggle for him, and he had obviously done
everything in his power to get well. If such a gifted, loved, and loving person,
someone with excellent resources, couldn’t beat this disease, what hope is
there for the rest of us? Fortunately, most people with depression don’t fall
into a well that deep, but it is rather alarming the number that do, even when
under a doctor’s care, even with family and friends being vigilant and
supportive.
My depression most often feels to me like I am trapped in tall
bucket about half-full of sadness. I’m not drowning, but I am surrounded, and I
cannot get out. I know that there are things I can and should do to at least
make the water level go down, but even when I know that writing or exercising or
even cleaning have the potential to lift my spirits, they are the last things I
want to do. The sides of the pail are too tall, too slippery. I feel helpless.
So I focus on the darkness instead of reaching for the light.
There is a little something stubborn in people with depression.
We tend to feel like victims, and with that mentality comes a sense of
helplessness, of not believing it is within our power to change things. Perhaps we are more comfortable living with
the sadness that is known than to move into the happiness that could be. Or we
may believe that, once we’re out from under the cloud, no one will believe that
the cloud was real.
Depression, like so many illnesses, is more complicated and
more devastating than we know. We’re looking, as we always do, for the quick
fix, the sure shot, the easy-to-swallow correction. It doesn’t exist. It
requires a lot of work to overcome. And each case is different; each depressed
person is in his or her own pail. Each has to figure out what works, and then
stick with the plan.
Depression is as a medical condition, and it deserves to be
treated as such. There are medicines available that can be a great benefit, but
getting the right meds in the right doses is kind of a trial-and-error thing.
And, as a friend noted, the pharmaceutical companies are the ones doing all the
research on depression, and it’s likely that their goal is motivated as much by
money as by improving the human condition. A pill is not always the answer, is
not always the ONLY answer, is not always the COMPLETE answer. As with most
medical conditions, a multi-tiered approach often works best.
Talk therapy, with or without pharmaceuticals, can be a huge
help, but again, therapists only make money when you’re making those
appointments. Talking with friends can be just as beneficial for many people,
but even the best friends are bound to get frustrated after weeks and weeks of
negative self-talk. And I don’t blame them. I get tired of hearing myself complain.
I have a pretty great life, and it bothers me that I don’t appreciate it more. I
don’t want to burden my friends with my petty complaints when we live in a
world full of atrocities like hunger and racism.
So, what to do? While certainly not a substitute for medical
care, there are simple things that can be done to combat depression. Research
shows that listing three good things that happened each day (small things, like
a call from a friend, completing a task, discovering a new tea) lifts even
clinical depression in a matter of weeks. Decades of research also indicate
that the act of smiling—even when you’re not feeling it—and doing good deeds
for others consistently boost mood. None of these things in itself is a cure
(look again to Robin Williams), but all can be helpful.
When I had cancer, there were times when I thought that the
treatment was worse than the disease. I wasn’t sure if I could do all of the chemo
and all of the radiation. Many people kept me going: doctors and pastors and
friends and coworkers and family and even the occasional stranger in the
street. But in the end, it was my decision, and I knew that I wanted to do all
that I could to get well. Having a goal allowed me to do the things that I didn’t
think I could.
So it is with depression. Many, many people have kept me
going, listened to me vent, forced me to get out, helped me to find purpose,
and I am enormously grateful. But it is still my pail. Some days I am out, and
other days I fall back in. And each day I have to remind myself that, even if I’m
in the pail, there are things I can do to keep the water from rising. I need to
choose to do them.
I also try to remember to do for others as others have done
for me. I can’t pull those who are depressed out of their pails, but I can be a
listener and an encourager. I can offer to hold them accountable. And I can
walk with them on their journeys.
I guess those big feet are good for something.
