1667: Depression’s a Bitch

I’m conscious of adding to the noise surrounding this topic at the moment, but given, well, the nature of the topic, I felt it important to speak about it.

On the off-chance you’ve missed the news, it seems that beloved comedy actor Robin Williams was found dead recently in what appeared to be a suicide. The star had been struggling with depression for some time, and the conclusion to his life story is an all too common tale for those who suffer under the weight of the Black Dog’s attention.

I have written about depression numerous times on this blog, but at times like this it pays to re-explain some things to those who have never encountered it or do not know what it is like to be plunged into that particular world of darkness. I have no shame in saying that I have suffered because of it, and it has helped define the person I am today, both for better and for worse.

Depression is something that is difficult to define, because it changes its own manifestation so frequently, and seemingly at random. On some days, it can make you want to not get up, not get dressed, not leave the house. On others, it can make you want to go and look at things that make you sad, pondering what might have been. On others still, it can make you have strongly emotional reactions to the slightest stimulus. It beats and pounds on your brain; it makes you think you’re stupid, worthless, ugly, fat, disgusting, useless, incapable of doing anything worthwhile, doomed to failure; it makes you think nobody loves you, nobody cares about you, nobody would even notice if you were just to die here and now; it makes you wonder if life is even worth persevering with if all each new day brings is more pain.

It doesn’t strike every day, either. A depressed person is not perpetually down or sad. On some days, they can go about their business perfectly normally, as if nothing is wrong. Sometimes, a poorly timed comment or a badly phrased joke can bring the Black Dog back at a second’s notice; others, it is banished to a cage in a far-off corner of the mind. But it always breaks out again eventually.

There is no “cure”. There is no magic bullet. You can learn to cope with it, but it never truly goes away. And on days when just everything seems to be getting worse and worse, the temptation can be to want to escape from it through the only means seemingly available: to escape this world altogether, in the hope that the next, whatever that might be, is more hospitable. I’ve only come close to contemplating this during one period in my life — the time when my marriage fell apart is when I felt lower than I’ve ever felt in my life, and on more than one occasion I wondered if it would really matter, if anyone would really care if I were to just end it all and leave the world behind me. Obviously I didn’t do that, otherwise you wouldn’t be reading this now, and I’m glad I didn’t; while I wouldn’t say my life is perfect just yet, it’s certainly been making slow but steady progress back into a territory I would describe as “on track”.

And yet here’s the thing: I still get depressed. I live in a house that I own along with a wonderful partner whom I love very much. I’m soon to start a new job that should be a good fit for my skills and experience. I’ve bought a new car that I like a lot. I’m in a position where I don’t have to panic too much about money. I have most of the things I want in life, and the means to acquire those that I don’t. And I still have my health, all my limbs and my mental faculties. I count these blessings — and plenty of others besides — every day, and yet still there are some days where the darkness is inescapable; some days that just lay you low, unable to do anything, unable to define exactly “what’s wrong”.

That’s what depression is. It can strike anyone, anywhere, any time. It doesn’t make any distinctions based on any of the labels we humans like to ascribe to one another. At best, it’s an inconvenience. At worst, it’s a killer.

Should any of the above seem familiar to you, I’d encourage you to talk about it when you can. Don’t be afraid of judgement or negativity; reach out to those you know and trust — or a professional trained in such things if there is no-one in your personal life that you trust enough with this — and speak up. Don’t suffer in silence. You matter, even if there may be days when it doesn’t feel like it. The world would be a worse place without you in it.

Most of all: good luck. The battle against depression is a tough, never-ending fight that can never truly be won, but, as we so regrettably saw with Williams, it sure can be lost. Hold your head high, stand up to that Black Dog and tell it to fuck off. You’ll be surprised how many other voices you’ll hear; you are not alone.