D is for Depression

Today I want to talk about depression…because it’s something I’m going through.

Hi. My name is Keith, and I’m depressed. And I’m not ashamed to admit it. In fact, I’m rather glad to be able to have a name for this feeling of helplessness and incompetence I’ve had for a while now. Because now that I have a name for it, now that I know what it is, I can start to get help for it.

Now that I know that it is depression, I can stop trying to power through with my life held together with duct tape, and just let things fall apart…so I can start to get better.

When I first announced on Facebook that I might be suffering from depression, I was a little hesitant about it. Not because of any stigma it might carry…screw the stigma, I know plenty of people who’ve suffered from depression, and the more we talk about it, the better it is for everyone. No, I hesitated because I knew plenty of people who’ve suffered from depression, and I didn’t want to appropriate the word for their serious condition for what might merely be a “rough patch” for me.

But an amazing thing happened when I made my announcement…all my depressed friends came out of the woodwork in support, saying “We’ve been there. We’ll help you through this.” One friend laughed and said, “What took you so long to figure this out? People like you, who think as deeply and feel as deeply as you do, are prime candidates for depression.”

Whoa!

She was saying that it made logical sense for someone like me, a self-confessed overthinker, to be depressed. But she also hit on something else…that I’m also an over-feeler. OK…get your minds out of the gutter…you know that’s not what she meant.

And hearing her say this meant that I could let go of a lot of things I’ve been thinking too much and feeling too much about over the years. I could let go of the girl who broke my heart 40 years ago, and my desire to tell her that I understood and forgave her. I could let go of the girl who I hurt seven years after that, and the desire to apologize, and explain that I now understood what was going on in my head at the time. I could let go of trying to figure out what was up with the friend whose car was hit by a train on a deserted stretch of road in the middle of nowhere, back in 1977.

And that girl from freshman year who I never got around to giving the $20 to when I bought her stereo from her…I could stop calculating what $20 is over 45 years at 7% interest (it’s $392.57, by the way).

I can let all of that be water under the bridge. 

I was never one for perfection, but I was one for getting things “just right” rather than just good enough. But when I crashed and burned, it gave me the freedom to say that maybe I don’t have to be Mr Wonderful all the time, and maybe sometimes I should just let things be “good enough” rather than aiming for even just right. Perhaps good enough is good enough; and perhaps good enough will give me the space I need to breathe and get my life back together.

And of course there’s medication. I know…this a big stigma attached to taking medication for depression, but as an insulin-dependent diabetic, I see things a little differently. If there’s no shame in people like me taking a drug every day to stay alive, why should there be any shame in taking a drug every day to stay sane?

It’s gonna be a long journey, but I’m up to it. I have my first appointment with a counselor today.

And I will get better.