It has been a shamefully long time since I have written much of anything, and particularly since I have written here. Shameful mostly to myself, because writing is such an integral part of my being. Yet whenever I need to do it the most, I stop.
You see, this particular holiday season has found me far, far down, where the sun just don’t shine. Normally, I adore Christmas and everything it brings, means and stands for, but this year was terribly difficult for a variety of reasons. I’m coming through the darkness onto the other side, finally; to my usual optimism and innate ability to thoroughly enjoy my morning cup of coffee, a beautiful, sunny day and listening to my kids’ chatter.
I don’t know when or why I stopped writing when I am unwillingly visiting The Dark Side (my term for clinical depression). As a tween and teenager, I filled journals with angsty prose, but as an adult, I’ve tended to avoid writing during these trips. Maybe it’s because I’m afraid of what will come out. After all, like so many other writers, my hand seems to have a stronger connection to my emotions than my brain does. It can be pretty scary to not realize quite how you feel about something until you write about it.
Then too, there’s the guilt over knowing that in the whole scheme of things, whatever I am going through is nothing, NOTHING, compared to what other people in my life are. This knowledge makes me go inside myself even deeper, because I have no room to complain. I just don’t. I have blessings galore, more than I can even name or realize, and I should be deeply grateful for each and every one of them. And under normal circumstances, I usually am.
But that’s what depression does. It lies to you. It thunks you over the head with despair and self-pity, and when you feel ashamed and guilty for being forced to indulge yourself in it, it lays you out flat with more. It’s ruthless, searing, yet at the same time, incredibly dulling. You go through periods of sharp, spiky emotional pain and others of feeling like someone ripped everything that makes you YOU away. There’s no joy, only brief periods of pseudo-happiness that barely touch the surface.
Thankfully, I haven’t taken a journey to The Dark Side for quite a few years and I’m beyond grateful that the trip is at an end. Depression isn’t something I’m proud of, but it’s something I struggle with from time to time, just like other people deal with diabetes or an overactive thyroid. That many people don’t understand it as an illness, even in this age, is sad and terribly uneducated.
Depression doesn’t define me, but it is a part of who I am. I’d like to think that it has made me a more empathetic person, as well as a stronger person. It has certainly forced me, at times, to work harder than most people have to in order to accomplish the bare minimum.
Here’s to a long, long vacation from The Dark Side, and a light-filled, productive and peaceful 2012 for us all.
Do you struggle with depression? How do you deal with it (medication, therapy, exercise, etc.)? How does it affect your family?
Thank you.
You should keep writing even when you’re in depression. You’re very good. This post is incredibly descriptive. As you know, I don’t struggle with depression, but I do get migraines, and this line
It’s ruthless, searing, yet at the same time, incredibly dulling.
perfectly describes how I feel in the throes of a migraine. Of course, I know you get them too so you understand that. But not having depression, I feel after reading this I kind of understand how it must feel. Great post.
Gretchen, now that you pointed this out, I would say that depression is a lot like an emotional migraine, if that makes sense. Good analogy.