Ah yes, the Big D. Or, as writer and radio personality John Moe calls it, “Clinny D”, as in clinical depression. To me that term sounds more like an STD, so I’m not a big fan, but I am a fan of him. He has a podcast called “The Hilarious World of Depression,” which is phenomenal. In each episode, he interviews a famous creative person about their own experiences with depression, from a drag queen to a stand-up comedian to a former child actor. It’s excellent. He’s also written a book by the same name as his show, which I haven’t gotten around to reading yet, but I have no doubt that it, too, will be excellent.
Let’s dive in: We use the term “depressed” a lot, and it carries varying degrees of weight. But it’s never a good thing. It’s never, “Hey everybody, I’m depressed!” If you’re really depressed, you won’t be talking about it. You probably won’t be talking about anything, because you’ll be wrapped in your blankets in bed trying to avoid facing daily life.
It’s both terribly easy and terrifically hard to explain depression, particularly to someone who has never experienced it (lucky bastards).
It’s often referred to as a deep, dark hole one can’t get out of on one’s own.
It’s a pair of dark glasses that colors everything you feel and see and think.
It’s a thick fog that envelops you and you are cut off from yourself as well as others.
It’s a deep, dark pool of quicksand of some kind (like in “The Princess Bride”).
To borrow from another popular family film series, it’s like being around a gaggle of Dementors, who suck all the joy out of your life in one fell swoop. Pretty shitty.
It’s a sense-duller that leaves you feeling dead inside.
It’s feeling a husk of your former self, and made worse by your fear that you will never again return to that former self.
Depression feels like forever. Every time.
And here’s some more info for you: People with depression are often incredible actors.
They can mask their depression and go about daily life looking fairly high-functioning. But a cheerful demeanor in public does not translate when the depressive goes home and can take the mask off. Then, she can lie on the floor and wait for it to get dark, and not have to smile at people or say Have a good weekend!! in a cheery voice, or feel good about her future. She can go to bed and hope she never wakes up.
I am a particularly good actor because of my OCD masking experience for two decades, which I’ll tell you more about later in this series. I’m good at hiding my own depression to most everybody, but those who know and love me the most have learned to see through my facade. Which is honestly a good thing.
I cannot emphasize to you enough how good an actor a depressed person can be, at least for short periods. It is no exaggeration to call depression the silent killer, because if you’re suicidally depressed, you may go out of your way to not show people how you really feel, lest they stop you from completing your mission. Not a very comforting thought.
And yes, there are people with depression who very clearly have it, and can barely (if at all) get out of bed, and who basically want to be left alone to sleep, die, or binge on Netflix until they fall asleep and get some respite from the unfathomable pain they’re in.
Most cultures around the world don’t like dealing with or even acknowledging depression. But, speaking about what I know, I’ll stick to North America. Living in the States as I do, it’s something that’s still very taboo, and that most people truly do not want to discuss. It’s kind of like admitting to people that you’re an alien from another planet when you say you’re depressed. They’re confused, perturbed, and truly do not know what to make of this information, or of you.
Honestly, it takes balls to be with someone who is depressed. Most people aren’t up for the job — probably due to prior conditioning that this is something we don’t talk about, and/or, feelings within themselves that they may be or have been depressed at one time, or the fear that they don’t know how to help a suffering loved one. (Run-on sentence, anyone?) (Seriously, though depression is not actually contagious).
It’s certainly not something you want to talk about with someone every single time you’re with them, because then your friends and family will get compassion fatigue and that will make things worse.
Yes, worse. Hooray! You see, if you have chronic depression like me, it’s not always a brief, discrete event; even those who love you the most will eventually burn out listening or even just being with you, with your symptoms. So you end up isolating more and more, which makes you more depressed. And your family and friends grow distant because they’ve run out of things to tell you or time to listen or things to do to help you. It’s really hard to witness depression in someone you love. And for the person with depression? Unfathomably hideous.
There is a characteristic called Depression Face: Yes, it’s a thing. Depressed people have a certain vacant, droopy look. When I’m depressed and I look in the mirror, I hate what I see, but I know if this is a big bout of depression or not. How huge are the bags under my eyes? How pale am I? How puffy is my skin? Have I been gaining weight? Of course I have. Food is the one true solace in a sea of despair. As amazing writer Chuck Wendig says, and I’m paraphrasing here, ice cream is essential in a time of crisis. He’s not wrong.
Depression also ebbs and flows within an episode. You can have a series of shitty days, and then several halfway decent ones, leading others, and you (if you’re a newbie) to think that the depression has lifted and all is well again. But you’d be wrong about that, because long term clinical depression goes on and on, without a clear start nor end date. I always find that when I’m in a depressive episode, there will be many “false endings” of the depression. I’ll find myself thinking, “Ooh, I feel better now, guess I slipped under the limbo pole this time.” I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had a bi-monthly check up with my psychiatrist and have told him I’m feeling better, only to wake up THE NEXT DAY and feel like utter shit again. It’s most annoying. Depression is a fluid motherfucker.
Another thing about chronic, long term depression is that after a while you become invisible. Your energy is low, you don’t have anything to add to the conversation, and people avoid you since you’re kind of a bummer, even just to look at — what with the sunken face and all.
So you can kind of move through life unattended and unnoticed. Is that why I wear so much camo? Because sometimes I just want to blend into the surroundings. You don’t bother me, I won’t bother you.
So you are left alone with your meds and your doctor and your therapist (if you’re lucky), and unless you have really good ones, there’s only so much they can do. And since you generally only meet up with your therapist once a week, there are six other days when you are on your own. And you’re likely to talk to your psychiatrist much less frequently than that.
Fortunately nowadays, with telehealth booming, especially in the mental health industry, you can get more help quicker, and sometimes, cheaper even without insurance. That is a very hopeful and helpful thing, and I hope it helps more people who have trouble accessing affordable care.
The most important things to do if you’re depressed are DO NOT GIVE UP and TELL SOMEONE WHO CAN HEAR YOU THAT YOU FEEL LIKE SHIT. Those are the crucial first steps to keeping yourself under control. You can iron out all the details later. What you really need is at least a few teaspoons of hope. It’s amazing what that can do.
In the meantime, just hold on to the edge of the fucking boat. Eventually, you will get to shore and you will be safe. Get help as soon as possible, and hold onto hope.
And for people who care about depressed people, try to stay connected with them even when it’s hard. Remind them that you are there for them and that things will get better, and that they are not alone. Just a hug or an I love you can go a long way, too. Because depressed people hate themselves and think everyone else does, too.
Also, and I cannot stress this enough — do NOT, repeat, DO NOT ever say “Hang in there”. Think for a minute about the images that may come to mind. They’re likely one of two. If you imagine suicide, you are likely to think of hanging as one way to go, and so using that expression is really not a good image to give to someone who’s feeling like death.The other, if you are of a certain age, is from the 1970s Argus poster series that had the photo of an adorable kitten hanging onto the end of a rope. Barf. Shut it down.
As I write this today, there is clear evidence that more people than ever are depressed, especially teenagers and young adults. The pandemic wrecked a lot of people’s lives, and their health, and that includes their mental health. Isolation was rampant during the long months of the lockdown, and isolation can trigger depression like few other things can. The more disconnected a person feels, the worse they feel. It’s a negative spiral as they fall deeper into a hole for one, with no way to communicate or connect with the outside world. Think about hugs as well. We weren’t hugging anyone but the people we lived with (if we were lucky) these past 16 months. That was rough on everyone. I cannot overstate this enough: HUGs are HUGe.
So: If you feel shitty and it’s been going on for a while, or you feel out of control, run, don’t walk, to your doctor. Get a REFERRAL to a mental health specialist if you can. GPs just don’t know that much about brain chemistry, and you may very well need to see someone who does. But buyer beware; finding the right fit can take awhile, so if you can get some placeholder treatment while you look for an appropriate psychiatrist to prescribe meds if need be, you can also look for a long term psychiatrist (who can prescribe meds) and/or a therapist. I’ll be talking more about them later in this series.
While there are many treatments for depression, including too-many-to-count pharmaceuticals that try to elevate your serotonin, or dopamine, as well as all manner of talk therapy. Everyone has their own journey on the Depression Express (as opposed to the Bipolar Express). There are certain key things that can really help, as a person looks for medication and/or therapy to sort themselves out:
- Exercise is seriously helpful for most people. Whether I feel well or not, I’m better off after at least half an hour of decent movement (I’m not athletic AT ALL, so it’s usually me on a walk listening to Janelle Monae, or jogging at the speed of molasses on our treadmill in the basement while I watch “Broadchurch”). The point is. I’m moving, and I’m catching some endorphins that ease a bit of my pain.
- Eat something decent, not just carbs and sweets (although that’s what you’ll crave).
- Sleep: You know too little isn’t good for you, but neither is too much.
- Connection with other humans: Conversation, in person or online, however brief, can help mitigate the crushing loneliness of depression
- Physical contact from humans: Again, hugs.
- Contact with a friendly pet: Pets are very helpful to calm one’s anxiety and provide a connection with a live creature (I dream of one day getting a therapy dog. Right now I have unaccredited therapy cats, who do an okay job of providing me with comfort, albeit always avec les hairballs).
- Showering and dressing every day no matter how you feel: Don’t underestimate this one. Many of us put on pounds and stayed in perma-sweatpants for the past sixteen months and many of us got depressed. Not a coincidence.
- Go outside every day. Even if it’s just to walk around the block. Your body needs the vitamin D. We all know how much staying homebound this past year and half (almost) has done to our psyches.
Finally, along with my book recommedations in B is for Bipolar, if you want to further educate yourself, here are a few more picks for accessible, helpful books:
“Get it Done When You’re Depressed,” by Julie Fast, is an interesting read. It’s a bit too self-helpy at times, but, to be fair, Julie Fast has done a TON for making mental illness more understood and mainstream, so she knows of what she speaks and she knows how to simplify things. She has bipolar disorder, and was the consultant for Claire Danes when she needed to research the condition for the show “Homeland.” Julie has a long resume of books that are quite helpful and written in accessible, and friendly language. And while she does lean more on the bipolar disorder side of things in terms of information, even someone with unipolar depression (as in “just” depression), can benefit from her wisdom and experience.
Another amazing book about depression is “The Noonday Demon”, by Andrew Solomon. In this hefty tome, he has chapters from Breakdowns to Alternative Treatments, to his own experience with depression. His research is top-notch. His poetic yet accurate language on defining depression is worth the price of the book alone, especially if you’re someone who cares about someone who has clinical depression, and you want to see the world from behind their eyes.
So, to summarize:
Depression sucks. Depression sucks. Depression sucks.
Depression goes the fuck away.
And you live to fight another day.
It does go away eventually. And you grow stronger.
It’s like the beautiful Japanese practice of Kintsugi, where broken crockery pieces are put back together using gold or silver powder, creating a strong bond where once things were broken.
That’s kind of what depression is like.
You break, then you mend, you break, then you mend.
And you become stronger and more beautiful than before.
Every single time.
