This is the hardest blog I’ve ever attempted to write.
For the better part of eight months, I have been struggling under the thumb of a rather intense depression. This is a monster I’ve battled many times in my life; it is not new. Yet, this has been a particularly brutal one, and I’m not out of the woods yet.
As a writer, I try to write about everything. But it’s hard to write about depression. For one, there’s the fear that the minute you say, “I’m suffering from depression,” people will look at you funny. That they will nod at you with wincing, constipated face, place a hand on your arm and say, with all good intent, “How are you?” And your pain will war with your desire to be “normal” and not looked at funny by sympathetic people at parties. So you will answer, “Fine, thanks” while you’ll think of all the things you could say: “Partly cloudy with a strong chance of rain later?” “Mostly okay except for that silent sobbing I did on the F train this afternoon which frightened the school children.” “Well, I’m okay now but around 10 PM I could be drinking from a seemingly bottomless cup of self-loathing, so stick around if you’re into that sort of thing.” You do not want to be labeled “That Depressed Person,” which was not a show on ABC.
Depression is hard to understand, because it is not a consistent state. Depression is rather like a virus, but like a virus, it has its manageable days and its acute, life-threatening flare-ups. You can be in a depression and still laugh at a friend’s joke or have a good night at dinner or manage low-level functioning. You grocery shop and stop to pet a puppy on the corner, talk to friends in a café, maybe write something you don’t hate. When this happens, you might examine your day for clues like reading tea leaves in a cup: Was it the egg for breakfast that made the difference? The three-mile run? You think, well, maybe this thing has moved on now. And you make no sudden moves for fear of attracting its abusive attention again.
But other times…
Other times, it’s as if a hole is opening inside you, wider and wider, pressing against your lungs, pushing your internal organs into unnatural places, and you cannot draw a true breath. You are breaking inside, slowly, and everything that keeps you tethered to your life, all of your normal responses, is being sucked through the hole like an airlock emptying into space. These are the times Holly Golightly called the Mean Reds.
I call it White Knuckling it.
When it’s White Knuckle Time, you will have to remind yourself to stand in the middle of the subway platform, well away from the edge.
You may find yourself on the floor of your shower, your face turned toward the wall while the water courses over your shoulders, your mouth opened in a howl that will not come.
You may find yourself on the treadmill at 5:30 a.m. running, running, running, as if you could outpace the emotional mugger at your back.
You might sit at a dinner party making small talk, hoping that you pass for normal, because you suddenly feel as if you are not in touch with the usual social paradigms.
You will not sleep. Insomnia becomes your permanent house guest, and you will wake, blinking up at the weak moonlight splayed across your ceiling like a crime scene, the very stillness of the house seemingly complicit in your guilt.
Ordinary tasks become extraordinary challenges: The laundry. Phone calls. Emails. Making food. Making decisions. Engaging in conversation. Concentration proves impossible—you stare at your computer screen and all your words feel as if they are trapped behind a curtain far too heavy to lift. Deadlines are missed. These everyday failures compound adding an element of panic to the already untenable situation.
There is an undertow to depression. It doesn’t take you all at once. It leaves you with some false sense that you are coping. That you are in control. That you have the shore still well in sight, until, at some point, you raise your head to find yourself all alone, battered by rough seas with absolutely no idea which way you should swim.
If depression were as physically evident as, say, a broken limb or cancer, it would be easier to talk about. The pain could be marked, quantified, obvious to the observer. You would feel justified in saying, “I’m sorry that I haven’t returned your email but you can see the huge hole in the center of me, and I’m afraid it has made such dialogue impossible.” But the stigma of depression is that it comes with the sense that you shouldn’t have it to begin with. That it is self-indulgence or emotional incompetence rather than actual illness. This brings on attendant feelings of shame and self-loathing, which only exacerbate the pain, isolation, and hopelessness of the condition. “I cannot share this,” the depressed person thinks. “It is too embarrassing, too shameful.” And so, you swallow it down, until it feels that your heart is a trapped bird beating frantic wings against the pain you’ve shoved up against it. Depression isn’t like being sad or blue or wistful. It is crippling. It is a constant whine in your head, making it hard to hear yourself think.
The other trouble is that it is often incredibly difficult to articulate the pain you feel. Words prove inadequate, and the distance they must travel from this deep well of grief and loneliness up to your mouth seems impossible to traverse. It is miles and miles of no-man’s land. How can you communicate something so without form? Depression is a vengeful ghost you see from the corner of your eye always but you know that no one else can see it. So how do you alert anyone to its presence in the room?
Sometimes, people can’t take it anymore. Whenever a suicide happens, whenever I hear of these losses—Kurt Cobain, David Foster Wallace, Spalding Gray, Ned Vizzini—a certain terror takes hold. They didn’t beat it, I think; they didn’t win. Perhaps it is unbeatable, after all. Resistance is futile.
I have heard people speak of the selfishness of suicide: “How could s/he leave behind a spouse or, worse, children?” It’s hard to imagine someone committing such a terrible act, one that permanently damages those left behind. I have heard well-meaning therapists explain that this is an act of rage turned inward. I’ve spent many years in psychoanalysis. I get it. And certainly, the fact that I have a child keeps me fighting during the bad times.
But I don’t think it’s all that simple.
To these cries, to these explanations, I can only say that you cannot know unless you’ve been there. Believe me, these people do not want to die. They only want the pain to end. The pain is all-consuming. It is a pit-bull whose jaws will not let you go, and the more you struggle against it, the tighter the bite gets, the greater the pain becomes.
Imagine that you sit, shivering and blue, in a tub of freezing water. If you were not depressed, you’d get out of the tub. But now imagine that you cannot get yourself out of the tub. Your body is weighted to the bottom with invisible stones. The sides of the tub are too high—you can’t imagine that on the other side of the tub is a floor that leads to a warm towel and an exit. You can only see the walls of the tub, closing you in. You can only feel the relentless, needle-prick torment of the icy water. You can only watch, helpless, as your fingers prune and bruise with cold, a strange mix of acute pain and numbness. And you are aware of isolation so complete that it feels as if you are an astronaut whose line has come untethered in space. As if you have swallowed loneliness and are drowning in it, unable to cough it up and breathe again.
In this state, you can only think of how desperately you want this agony to end. You can only think of doing something, anything to stop the feeling, to keep it from overwhelming you with shame, loneliness, guilt, and bleak-gray hopelessness. This is what it is to experience depression. It is the absence of hope.
I do not want to romanticize depression. The flip side of the stigma accompanying depression is a tendency to turn it into The Ever-Popular Tortured Artist Effect, to borrow from Todd Rundgren. There is an idea that “artists” are such special snowflakes that the very air they breath injures them. This is bullshit. Again, depression is an illness, not a fashion statement. Certainly, there appears to be a large correlation between artists and depression. But I would argue that artistic expression is not a symptom of depression so much as a response to it. I see writing as an act of resistance against an occupying enemy who means to kill me. It’s why I’m writing this now. Silence = Death, as ACT UP used to say.
This is why there is such comfort in books and movies and music and art. Why it often saves. I have taken comfort from depressed characters like Holden Caulfield, Esther Greenwood, Jimmy from “Quadrophenia,” Harold from “Harold and Maude,” Franny Glass, and too many others to name. I have found my emotional DNA in theirs and continue to draw solace from knowing that I am not alone in these murky, hard-to-articulate feelings.
We are not alone. That’s key.
Time and again, I am humbled by the beautiful vulnerability and resilience of human beings trying to stay on the bendable side of that all-too-human fragility. Everyone, it seems, fights a personal battle every day, one that, hopefully, leads to a greater well of compassion, empathy, and enlightenment. Once, I thought this path was about an idea I had of “self-actualization.” I imagined that this was an accomplishable goal and that it would look like a smooth, shiny fortress, something unassailable. But more and more, I’m coming to see the fallacy of that. That’s a hologram of happiness. That’s a defense against the pain of being human. It’s not about self-actualization; it’s about impermeability. To live in a keep is to retreat from the world. No. I’ve come to think that perhaps it is about the messiness of mistakes, of falling, of the bravery of unvarnished honesty, of forgiveness and love—the forgiveness and love we offer others, yes, but also the forgiveness and love we must extend to ourselves. There is no such thing as reaching the end goal of humanity. There is only the continued, imperfect striving. We are satellites sending radio signals to Earth, waiting for contact: “I hear you. Do you hear me? Over.”
If you are, yourself, depressed right now, send a signal to someone, anyone you trust. Say the words out loud. Words have power. You are not a freak. You are not icky. You are, simply, human and in great pain. You do not “deserve” that pain. You are not less than for feeling it, and you DO deserve love and care and relief from that pain.
If you know someone who is depressed, one of the greatest gifts you can give is to listen without judgment and to let the person know that s/he is loved simply for being.
This is not a pep talk to myself or anyone else. This is not a fucking happy face bandage on the very real torment of depression. This is the resistance fighter in me moving in the city shadows at midnight, posting notes to myself and anyone else who happens to need them to keep fighting, to strike back against the enemy.
This is all I know to do.
This is all I know to do.
This is all I know to do.
And if you take comfort from my words, if it helps you to feel understood in your pain, if it helps you to know you can and will get out of the tub, then I am glad.
As for me, today, I take comfort from the last line of one of my favorite short stories, J.D. Salinger’s “For Esme with Love and Squalor,” a story I discovered during a low period in high school. If you haven’t ever read this story, well, I highly recommend it. It’s about an encounter between two lonely people in an English tearoom, an American soldier shipping off to WWII and a precocious, thirteen-year-old girl putting up a brave front after losing both parents. I won’t spoil it with further banal explanation. You really should read it for yourselves. But suffice to say that the war doesn’t go well for the soldier, who returns, broken, until he receives a letter from the now-grown Esme, which comforts him such that he is finally able to put aside the horrors of war and sleep:
“You take a really sleepy man, Esmé, and he always stands a chance of again becoming a man with all his fac—with all his f-a-c-u-l-t-i-e-s intact.”
I hope your faculties remain intact.
As for me, I will do what I must to make my way through the miles of No-Man’s Land. And if I haven’t returned your email, I ask your forgiveness. It may be a while.
Big Feelings, my darling. I have them too. I love you and I am staggered by the eery precision with which you can nail the beast to the wall. I hear you. Do you hear me? Over.
*eerie* *sighs*
You are so incredibly courageous, Libba. And have made me smile and laugh and sing your name filled with praise. And I’m not talking about your writing. Though that deserves a tremendous amount of praise, too. I’m talking about your acts of kindness. I’ve been blessed to witness how you changed the lives of several people during your signing in Milwaukee, WI. You called a student of mine who couldn’t attend because of an exam. You purchased a book for a girl who couldn’t afford one. And you made me decide that when my novel comes out some day, I’ll do the same! Your honest post is once again Libba being Libba, giving back to others by sharing and caring enough to say that sometimes life can pull a person into a pit, despite trying everything to pull oneself out. I wish I could hug and thank you in person. Instead, I’ll continue to sing your praises for being a real, imperfect, wonderful human being. Sending blessings and love you way. Liza
I love this and that you wrote it. I write about my depression and PTSD and anxiety through my stories and it hurts to hear people call the characters weak or selfish or whiny because in effect it’s me who is those things. But then someone comes along who feels the same or who writes a post like this and I remember it’s empathy and understanding that I’m creating in these stories. The fact that people like you can bravely share these things gives people like me hope.
Sending you hugs!
As someone whose also almost given up, know that all of us who support are there, invisible, in that No Mans Land sending you good thought and love. That thought has helped me before. May it help you.
This post is brilliant. Thank you for sharing.
You have captured in language what I emotionally experience perfectly. A huge hug of thanks.
My M.O. is to isolate, so one of the biggest obstacles to getting back to “normal” is encountering friends and “having to” explain where I’ve been. I’ve started telling people, “Oh, I fell down a mineshaft. You know.” That seems to work.
During the time I am suffering from depression, I avoid contact with people. When I have to leave the house it is usually despite the anxiety of seeing someone I know. I just feel so raw, exposed and ashamed. And then it happens. While on a supply run to the store, carefully timed to minimize the possibility of contact, there he or she is. The friend or worse, the friend of a friend. Perhaps a former coworker from that job you quit/stopped showing up for. They ask that fraught question, “How are you?”
I think my best response is “Do you really want to know or are you being polite?” If they say they really want to know, I then ask, “How much time do you have?”
First of all, I just wanted to commend you for speaking out about this. For being so brave to write about depression when you have no one else to turn to. And it’s hard because people don’t understand what it’s like to go through it. But I do. I’ve been depressed for years myself. And you summed it all up with these words: “Believe me, these people do not want to die. They only want the pain to end. The pain is all-consuming.” A perfect version of what it feels like to be depressed gathered into one simple sentence. They don’t know what it’s like to not want to get out of bed. To cry for no reason whatsoever. To go to the ER because you’re afraid you’ll kill yourself and then proceed to make you talk.
Secondly, I want you know that you’re not alone. I’ve slowly gotten myself out of it. I’m not on any medication anymore, and I’m hoping not to be. Life is brighter, more cheerful and I have a reason to get up out of bed every day. Do not give up hope. Strive to fight for your life. It’s a wonderful and precious gift that has been bestowed upon us mere mortals.
I’m rooting and praying for you Libba
<3 one of your fans xoxo
Thank you for writing this. Just, thank you. Sending love.
Libba! I’m so glad you shared this. I don’t know if I can quite articulate it, but just like Holden and Esther have meant a lot to me, so has Gemma Doyle. The summer I was sixteen and depressed I read through all of the Gemma books late into the night, recognized something in them I hadn’t found anywhere else in Gemma’s struggles and felt this profound connection, copied out quotes into my journal, sobbing, and started to feel okay. Writing as resistance makes so much sense to me, and I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve written, and just want to send hugs or love or “I hear you” and let you know I’m here.
Love love love,
Kara
Thank you.
You are very brave to write this. You are also uncommonly courageous. There are people who have much to overcome in life. Others seemingly never have to face the bleakness. I have no idea why or who. Why some and not others? Who is chosen, singled out for good or bad things?
I have no answers. I can only say that depression i nothing to be ashamed of. Sometimes things just happen. You deal, you go forward. We go forward the best we can. All of us only do the best we can.
I had a very difficult 10 year period in my life There were people I looked at and envied. I envied them for many reasons. In later years, I found the situation reversed. They were having difficulties and I seemed to be on easy street.
I think life is ever changing. I want you to know that I admire you. I also deal with some things I don’t seem to have any control over. I admire you. Amazing things come to those who have much to overcome.
Blessed be.
Beautifully written, Libba. Thank you for putting it into words, and for being brave enough to share them.
I take 100mg Sertraline as well as a combo of 50mg Trazodone and .25 Risperdal for sleep (for the first time in my life, I sleep wonderfully). I am feeling very well and wish you only the best. Much love to you.
Just wanted to add my thanks for this honest and nail-head-hitting post.
All the best.
Hugs, Libba. Yeah, I have been there. And I have been frightened nearly to paralysis when my kids were there. I can handle my depression, but theirs sends me to depths that burn me. Just keep doing what you need to do. Thank you for writing this. May it bring understanding.
I am a person in the world you may never meet, but I am so proud of you for revealing what you are going through, when not writing I am a Child Youth Worker that helps teens and children deal with a slew of mental health issues. Depression is the hidden disease your right it needs more recognition because many people suffer from it. So although I am a person in the world you may never meet if you ever need to talk I will listen and I will never judge. *hugs*
Thanks for this. It’s vivid, first-hand reporting like this that tells me I do not have depression. I have, perhaps, a shallow candy version of it sometimes, which is dependent upon circumstances, and I can use my resources for other things.
You’ve helped me. I wish I could help.
If you see yourself as having a “shallow candy version”, even just during certain circumstances, ask a professional if it is a problem. There is also a problem called dysthimia that is like having a low-grade perpetual depression. The lows are not so dramatic but the presence of low energy and initiative are a problem affecting daily functioning. Most people do not have to wonder if they have a problem. So if you are thinking you might, you might.
Thank you. Thank you for putting into words what’s so hard to describe–I think you’ve managed to describe it perfectly. This was simply gorgeous.
-Kaitlyn 🙂
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zfY4ePGIuMM One of my favorite pieces of art on this subject. I read it at a poetry slam once and I still think it’s one of the best performances I’ve ever done. The truth of it was just too raw to be stopped by everyone’s usual defenses.
Stay strong. You are loved.
Thank you for this.
Thank you for making me feel little less alone tonight.
Thank you. It’s hard for me to say anything besides that, but really. Thank you.
Fuck yeah, Libba Bray.
Painfully brilliant. Wishing you strength.
Thank you. This is one of the best things I’ve read on depression in a while. I hope you feel better soon, Libba. I know the pain and am also going through it.
This really captures the truth of depression, quite beautifully. I am so sorry that you too fall prey to this nasty beast. Sending hugs, always.
Thank you for your words.
xoxo
I love you, my torso twin.
Hang in there. Chocolate and a virtual hugs. You are not alone. Depression sucks. #1 fan
Libba Bray <> wrote:
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libbabray posted: “This is the hardest blog I’ve ever attempted to write.For the better part of eight months, I have been struggling under the thumb of a rather intense depression. This is a monster I’ve battled many times in my life; it is not new. Yet, this has been a par”
You are so brave to write this. It so needs to be written. Just this week two teenagers in our local community–both at the same high school–took their own lives. Two. In the same week. And still, there is a silence surrounding the issue of why and how and what could we do. Just last Dec., my husband’s uncle took his own life after a decades’ old struggle, and I can’t help but think that the silence around his illness (no one knew, really. No one talked about/shared about previous attempts)
Thank you for this. Thank you for sharing something that is so personal and so intensely private, because by sharing it, maybe someone else will see that they aren’t alone. Maybe a family or circle of friends will start talking. Maybe a life can be helped or saved.
Thank you.
WOW it’s like you looked into my soul and wrote my feelings. Thank you. We are not alone. as for suicide it’s not an option for me. My love for my family overrides that and a great lesson I learned a long time ago “Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem” ans although depression will be a life long struggle but it reminds me that the deep darks will go if only for a while.
Thank you. This is everything I haven’t been able to explain.
Thank you, Libba.
You are amazing.
Thank you. You’ve put words to something I’ve tried to explain/quantify time and again. Giving the beast a name makes it easier to deal with. Understanding it/speaking about it, gives us strength.
Thank you.
We aren’t alone.
Sending light and strength to you.
Reblogged this on Jennifer Loring and commented:
Reblogging because it’s important.
Your eloquence in the midst of pain and suffering is quite a triumph, and a strong grip on life.
You have done a service for so many by writing this. Depression is a liar, and you have exposed its lies.
Thank you for having the strength to so eloquently share with the world how I feel 99% of the time. I’m currently on disability for depression coupled with an anxiety disorder so severe that I barely leave the house. My husband knows, and obviously my therapist, but nobody else. I’m too ashamed. I’d rather people think I can’t find a job than have them know that I normally don’t consider getting out of bed a good idea.
The worst part has been losing my Words, which may be something you’ve experienced, too. I used to write, and was given positive feedback from other writers and even a agent, but right now depression has clogged my brain so badly that I can’t think of coherent sentences. It’s like waking up one day and being unable to speak, and I feel like I’ll never get it back. I try to explain to people that I miss my Words, and their replies are harsher than any discussion of depression might be.
I don’t have any advice for you, because I know sometimes it just sounds like platitudes. Just thanks.
Thanks so much for writing and sharing this piece, Libba. Several people in my family struggled or are struggling with depression, so I appreciate whenever someone is brave enough to be able to speak about their experience with it. As you say, silence = death; this is something I know too well. Hopefully, there will come a time when the shame and stigma of depression no longer exists.
Libba,
I near you loud & clear. Over!
You have given a voice to the silence that hurts so many of us. I have battled this silent disease a few times in my life & know all too well not wanting to die, but wanting the pain to end.
You have a beautiful way with words. Thank you for speaking so eloquently about a subject many do not want to even acknowledge.
Thank you & (((HUGS))). Hang in there!
I am so thankful you wrote this and I stumbled upon it. You wrote exactly what I have not been able to say. I’ve never read anything with so much truth in every statement, or something that is so raw.
Thank you for sharing this.
Thank you, Libba. I’m a writer struggling with this, too…and your words are a tether. You put context to my feelings and for that I’m grateful. Resistance fighters…yes. That’s what we are. Thank you.
I’ve been there – and sometimes feel like I’m tipping closer to that edge again – but you explain what it feels like so clearly. Thank you for having the courage to share your struggles.
Reading this, it’s like you have put that unseen demon inside me into visualised words. I have struggled on and off since I was a teenager, and used to be okay with discussing it with others. But amongst the real friends, there appeared people that mocked me, dismissed me with “take some pills then” and I withdrew. Now the only person I speak to about it is my husband. I nearly ended the pain about five years ago….and I’m glad I didn’t. Because along with the beast that lives inside me everyday, I have this beautiful golden haired little angel in my life, who keeps me pushing back every day. I have turned to hobbies, writing being one of them, to fight the demons that are holding me in that bathtub of icy water.
But unfortunately, I still know the people who claim to understand and demand I take chemicals to quell the pain. These “medicines” do not work. They simply cut me off from the emotions of life. And for me, whilst the depression can often be deep and all consuming, it is worth a thousand hours of pain for just one smile from the angel I created, my daughter. She is my shining light in the darkest hours of my life.
Thank you for writing this x
Very true and excellent details too.
I make gratitude lists all the time. I use them like a tool to raise my mood. When someone asks “How are you”? I ALWAYS say “I am well” if only to try and convince myself. I would like to re-post this on my blog. How can we arrange this??
Check out my website at http://www.JamesTheShaman.com. See if you would like me to post yours. I will attribute you as you see fit.
Blessings to you, and I pray that your depression lifts.
I think you are beautiful and brave and talented. And I know the point of writing this is not to get compliments. So thank you for always sharing the workings of your mind with us.
~Z
I needed this very much, thank you.
Libby, your post brought tears to my eyes. You are not alone. Please know that people do care and you will be in our thoughts and prayers.
I heard you speak at one of the SCBWI workshops at a national convention. You seemed to be on top of the world, no matter how you may have been feeling at the time.
You are an accomplished, amazing woman, and your candor speaks volumes about your internal strength, though you might not feel it at this moment.
Your post is also a tribute to those of us that have an unseen illness or condition, and to let us know that we don’t always have to suffer in silence.
Big hugs to you and hope this oppressing cloud will begin to lift from you soon.
Libba, not Libby. I know your name. But apparently my iPhone doesn’t and changed it…Sorry…
Reblogged this on Misadventures of a Misfit and commented:
This is one of the most incredibly true things I’ve ever read when it comes to depression.
Thank-you.
I hear you.
Thank you for sharing so openly with us. You were able to put into words years worth of feelings for me. I am slowly sharing more with my love ones about how I feel but, words to not come easily for me. Thank you again. Hugs
Yes, this is it, Libba! I have never read anything about depression that truly captured my experience until reading this, through tears, this afternoon. Viral is a perfect description as the stuff does go away for a period of time. I’ve noticed that some periods of “virus” are worse like this current one which seems like no other. As I read your words, I felt as if I was finally able to take a deep, deep breath. I have a doctor’s appointment this Wednesday. Silent no more. Thank you, Libba and thank you for sending out your satellite to connect with mine. Sisters of the resistance! Forever grateful.
Sending lots and lots of love your way, Libba! <3
Hugs to you. That’s all. Just hugs. They are always there for you. You may not see me but I am there for you.
Thank you for your words, I felt them. I don’t know whether there is a “cause” for depression, a precise thing or fact you can blame for your depression. Sometimes, I think there is no such a thing, that depression is an illness that hits you without a reason.
But most of the time, I think I know the cause for my depression. I have social phobia, and that’s yet another thing people can’t understand. They think that sociophobic persons are afraid of other people, that they only want to be alone, they don’t want to have friends. The opposite is true: I can’t survive without a friend, and I can’t survive without a partner. But I have no friends, I have no partner, and I’m simply not able to change this. I’m no afraid of people, I’m afraid of being alone, but I’m alone all the time.
So, when you tell me to speak about my depressions, when you write:
“If you are, yourself, depressed right now, send a signal to someone, anyone you trust.”
the only thing I can answer is: I’m sorry, there is no one I can send a signal to.
Hey, but you just did. I know it doesn’t always feel the same on the internet, it might not be as close a connection, and it might not feel as helpful to see usernames, but I’m reading this and that’s something. You’re not entirely alone. Hello.
Hello. Thank you for reading, thank you for saying “Hello”. I feel it. I thank you.
It’s in the middle of the night where I live, and I’ll go to sleep now. And I really feel better because I’ve heard your “Hello”.
And I have received your signal. Oh, I have been there a lot. A very resistant virus indeed. One moment at a time.
Thank you for receiving. It’s just the internet, it can’t change my life. But you changed this minute of it to the better.
Hi Bjorn. You can be alone but never lonely if at least you have some virtual friends on Facebook or similar. We have boosted each other through ups and downs for many years now. Join the crowd! We’ve even crowdfunded our cripplingly depressed friends thousands of kilometres away to get help, to travel home after being stranded by broken relationships, to pay bills they may never have incurred. I’m now my happiest in living memory. You can get there too. [hugs]
It can be a savior and tormentor (internet – virtual world) – it is mainly my world, so not totally alone, but it is not human contact and one needs that now and again. Still, the internet opens up so much more ‘human – ess out there’ and there are some fabulous people here on this blog. It does make such a difference to dealing with not even a black dog, but a black elephant!,,
So Bjorn, thanks for your comments and hope all of this a step forward to you.
Thank you for sharing this, Libba. It really does help to know I’m not alone.
All I can say is thank you… I understand this experience too well, I’m sorry that you or anyone else must suffer through it, and I’m a stranger, reaching out to you to say I hear you and we are not alone.
Exactly
Thank you so much for sharing this. I have been there too. It’s very hard when people say, “You have x, y, z what do you have to be depressed about?” Or when a new doctor recently said, “No, you’ve never been depressed. Just moody maybe?” Like I’m just exaggerating. You are not alone, and thank you for talking about this.
very brave post. thanks for articulating this.
So moving and so true. Thinking of you, Libba!
Very sorry to hear you’re a fellow sufferer. I was the freelance proofreader for Rebel Angels and love your writing. Hope you feel better soon.
This is such a beautifully written post, and I feel like you took the words straight from my own emotions and thoughts. I wish that you and me and every other person who is dealing with this didn’t have to. I wish that depression was not even a thing. But, as long as it is, I hope you know that I am keeping you in my thoughts. I am keeping all of you who relate to this in my thoughts. I hope we all find our way out.
Thank you so much for writing this. It helps me to read it and not feel so alone.
I always fought back the urge to end the pain by refusing to surrender, to be the loser, as well as by trying to analyze the reasons of my (supposed) depression (or maybe continued lack of happiness? is there a difference?).
I thought that my main issue was being lonely (as in not married/engaged/involved in a relationship), yet I read of many (supposedly) happily married/engaged people putting an end to their lives.
I thought another issue could be the lack of a true purpose/goal in life, as building a family is not an option and work is… well, mostly something I do for money, not because I’m into it. Again, there have been fathers, mothers and successful business (wo)men committing suicide.
I could go on listing. For hours.
I feel like I’m incapable of adjusting to life, as if I’m missing a major skill everybody else has.
Yet I’m stubborn enough to believe that resistance is not futile. Maybe my only quality IS the stubbornness. Denying to the Dark Lady an otherwise easy victory.
Still, when I try to lose myself in readings, films and whatever else seems to soothe the pain, I can’t help but focus on it more, instead, and feel a weight in my chest that at times make even breathing an unbearable effort.
I don’t think medicines are an option: I don’t smoke nor drink because I don’t like the sensation of losing control and I’m sure pills would just leave me empty, emotion-less, only to find all the issues waiting for me when their effects wear off.
No, thanks. At that point, it would be like drinking or using drugs.
However, the fact remains: what to do? What in those days when you know you have things to do and you can only stay in bed, surfing the web for a reading/video/music that might help you feel a bit better? Less lost, less useless, less socially incompetent?
Some say analysis can help. Some say it’s just an expensive “hobby” for rich, bored people.
I don’t know. At this point, I really don’t know.
These are the moments in which I’m almost happy to have to go to work: as it eats up most of my time, I have an excuse not to think about my life for real.
Then again, isn’t it another way of fleeing problems, just like drinking or smoking?
I can’t speak from personal experience, but I have several friends and people I know who have done therapy and taken anti-depressants. They’ve said that it doesn’t dull them or hollow their emotions, but rather just allow them to feel more normal and capable. Ultimately the brain is part of the body, and depression is about an imbalance in the brain, like a disease whose symptoms need to be taken care of, so sometimes you need the medications to make it easier; sometimes you can’t will yourself out of depression, just like you can’t will a broken arm to heal without taking the right steps. I really think going to a therapist or psychiatrist can be helpful, and I hope you’ll at least consider it. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, but I’m sending you love and good thoughts. 🙂
Also, I suggest watching this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w7k1SlEppWA
Supersolenoid(s), I can speak from personal experience – I’ve been there.
I’ve been there in the dark; stood there with both fists clenched, teeth ground together in a rictus as my body quaked with an anger at this impulse which commanded me to end myself and admit my defeat to a world that never earned my surrender.
I spent 26 years consciously fighting that idea with a stubborn refusal to try anything chemical, and a refusal to listen to anyone beside myself on how to handle the issues I was dealing with. I did my own research, I talked to some people, but at the end of the day I did everything on my own through sheer force of will – and it was everything I was promised by a psychiatrist when I was 13 years old.
That was how old I was when I was diagnosed as BiPolar, and that is how old I was when I refused to cooperate with any course of treatment that included medication. I, too, had seen the people on Lithium, and had seen the bombed out looks in their eyes. I knew I didn’t want that, and had no intention of becoming one of them. The psychiatrist, understanding that you cannot force a successful treatment on anyone, simply told me this:
“Then you will have to work harder than anyone will ever know if you want to be successful. It will never be easy, and you can always change your mind, but it may be possible.”
He was right – it was never easy. I forced myself out of bed, I forced myself into social situations, I forced myself into relationships, hobbies, everything I could to create a simulacrum of a real, functional human life – I was just known as someone with a bit of a cruel tongue and a bit of a temper. But it wore on me. I kept it up for 26 years, but finally I reached a point where the effort became too much to maintain.
I needed help.
For the past 11 months, I’ve been working with a psychiatrist who has prescribed modern medications to help me with my depression AND my mania. I don’t feel hollow and empty – nor am I emotionless; I am me, possibly for the first time ever.
I wake up in the morning feeling different than I used to – I feel human. I no longer begin my day with a sense of dread and failure hovering over me. I find myself feeling more relaxed while walking around because my chest and shoulders are literally no longer in a state of constant physical tension – it took me nearly a month to get used to the feeling of NOT balling my fists when I walked.
Most frightening/reassuring have been the responses from the people who have stuck with me all of these years as my friends. I have had some of them break into tears as they told me how happy they were to actually see me laughing for the first time – after knowing me for 7 years. People who once carefully measured their words with me now invite me over to their homes – and more importantly I am now comfortable inviting people into mine.
I will not promise you that you will experience all of these things; however, I never, even in my best case scenario dreamed that I would get the results that I have. The state of psychiatric medication has improved dramatically in the last 20 years, and I can assure you that properly administered and monitored it should in no way turn you into a zombie.
Talk therapy can help, too – not because someone will magically have your answers, but because someone else can help you look at things in a way you’ve never approached them before. But please, don’t right off both out of hand.
You are NOT alone.
There IS strength in defying that urge.
You ARE strong enough to make it.
Libba I just want to thank you for this post. I have relatives and friends who suffer from depression. I have been sympathetic to them and tried to be helpful but I don’t think (now I know) I really did not grasp exactly what they were going through. Even with your very in depth description which I feel was probably difficult for you to put out there, I know I still cannot know what it feels like it. But now when I talk to my family members or friends going through this, I can have better empathy and better understanding when they reach out. Also to other commenters who also suffer, your sharing has helped as well and I hope and pray for all of you to find what works to help you. Thank you all.
Thank you, Libba. Been there. Often. For years. Doing better. Hang in! xo
A very well-written post. Yes…this is it: I have felt exactly like this before. I hope you feel better soon and things look up for you. <3.
I hear you. Thank you. Thank you. Over.
Thank you for writing this. It is the post I wish I could have written so many times before. The part you wrote about, “Believe me, these people do not want to die. They only want the pain to end.” is the truest sentence. I have been there. I have attempted. I have come back from it and people ask me why i would do that, that is my answer. I just wanted to escape the pain.
The thing I would like to add is to not ever let people diminish what you are feeling. You would not believe how many times I have heard, it could be worse… look at what is happening with this person or that person. Yes, I just had a break down because something fell on the floor. No, just because you can think of something that you equate as worse in your mind does not make it better in mine.
Hang in there. Keep putting up the good fight.
I lean against the wall on subway platforms and stay away from the edge of balconies and rooftop terraces. One unbridled impulse could mean doing something irreparable. When I realize I haven’t showered or brushed my teeth in awhile, it hits me that things have gotten a bit worse. Mine stays at basically a low level but it’s been with me most of my life. Checking in when I have suicidal thoughts, I usually realize I’m overly tired.
I’ve considered medication before but never decided it was right for me, not even to try it.
Thank you for sharing these thoughts. I hope it has helped you in some measure.
Love and hugs! Sarah
Thank you for sharing. Nothing really helps. For me this phrase helps… a little. “don’t give up ten minutes before the miracle happens” This is my mantra. It feels like forever. It feels like always. That is the lie of the disease. There was a time that this monster did not have its tight grip. There will be a time again when this murky tide will recede. One minute, one day there will be light again. This is a chronic illness. Its not your fault. Breathe. Seek help. Get well. My love and thoughts be with you. Lisa
<3
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You have been my favorite writer for the past four years, ever since I binge read the entire Gemma Doyle Trilogy, and then later read Going Bovine in two days when I had the flu. My eyeballs hurt but it was so worth it. I’ve had depression on and off since I was twelve years old, and it has been especially bad the past two years (I turn thirty this year). I have a hard time getting out of bed or doing anything. I’m a small potatoes, self-published writer myself, and you perfectly articulated how hard it is to concentrate with writing when you’re depressed. I tried antidepressants, but they backfired and ended up giving me serotonin syndrome and a panic disorder. That only made me feel more scared to try anything to help myself. I’ve lost pretty much all my friends, and this past winter my grandfather, who I loved very much, died from cancer. I didn’t talk to him much in the last few months before his death because I was so anxious that I hardly did anything, and the guilt weighs on me every day. This essay completely described what depression is like, which is not an easy thing to do at all. You are really amazing and I can’t thank you enough for writing this.
For the past several months, I’ve been blogging about depression due to PTSD, and the resultant homelessness I have endured. Because we’re writers, yeah? What else are we going to do? How else are we going to work through it? And you said it–we try to honestly write about it all, but the stigma is strong, and scary. Thank you for being brave. This is so powerfully spot-on.
Thank you! I have walked in your shoes or I feel as if you have walked in mine and that is a good reminder of we never walk alone!
Thank you so much for writing this. I’ve suffered with/been fighting depression for almost seven years now and it’s been flaring up again lately so reading this post was a perfect way to start the day. I would never wish this on another person, but it is nice to be reminded that there are others out there who understand what it actually feels like and who aren’t afraid to speak up. Thank you for your bravery and I hope things get better for you. 🙂
Your extraordinary gift as a writer has allowed you to give voice in such a powerful, beautiful, compassionate way to a pain common to so many! Thank you.
My dear daughter struggles with this demon. I will forward your words to her, and I know they will give her comfort and strength: simply to know she’s not alone.
Thank you.
I’ve been dealing with depression since I was a child. I’ve nearly died from it and know others who have. I get your understanding of these suicides. Medication, when it works is a miracle. Hurray for you and your medical team! I am awestruck, and teary, reading your letter. I have to call it that, because it feels so personal. Brave, honest and raw. Thank you.
Thank you for sharing your story, Libba. The stigma of mental illness is damaging and heartbreaking. It makes the sufferer ashamed to share and therefore more vulnerable to the disease. My son was recently hospitalized after suffering a psychotic break that may have been brought on by depression or bipolar or a whole list of things. At support meetings on the unit I met many parents who were so secretive and sad. They did not want any family friends or teachers to know. While at the time I felt the same way, I also thought- how does the sufferer of this illness ever feel anything but shame if the people who love them the most cannot even bear to share it. This stigma and shame makes the victim feel like they are to blame and makes the public continue to doubt that these issues are a true illness. It helps explain why there are so few resources in our country for adolescents and adults who suffer these illnesses and why so little federal dollars are spent in research. What has amazed me the most in this experience is how common our story is. Whenever I share the truth (usually with strangers), every person has a story of their own to tell- about a brother, a cousin, a parent, an aunt. I admire your bravery and hope for your continued strength in this battle. You are loved. Loved by thousands of people who you have never even met.
Libba ~ Thank you for bravely putting into words the dark and dismal realities of depression, which I know too well. You are without a doubt one of my favorite writers and by extension, people in the world. Like someone said above, I know you didn’t write this blog for praise. But you are amazingly gut-honest, and I have no doubt you have helped so many by your post. You wrote something a while ago having to do with the fact that no matter how hard times have been for you, there was nothing that couldn’t be helped by writing. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve held on to that. Please take care of yourself and know you are loved and admired more than any of us can say.
Libba, I know it must have been hard for you to write this, but this brave essay is helping so many people already. I have sent it to friends and family who are suffering themselves or know someone who is. Thankyou for your courage. I pray and end to your pain and a return to the surface and the light.
Thank you for so gracefully and eloquently putting into words an accurate description of this horrible disease called depression..I too suffer from this tortuous disease and am currently in its terrifying grip where I am having difficulty with everything I attempt to do. The hardest part is the lack of understanding from family members as it seems they just don;t get it because I am the mom and mom are not supposed to be this way..For years I have tried to move through life but in recent weeks I have become incapacitated..I feel paralyzed, don’t want to work, get off the couch, get a shower..I also suffer from chronic pain which has just compounded the depression and these damn painful things cannot be seen, understood or believed..Your writing was helpful in validating my life..I hurt so badly right now but I have to push on..Maybe more will read and understand but it is hard to articulate to the ones you love. thank you..I don’t feel so alone and there are many out there existing and just trying to get through life one day, one hour, one minute at a time..
Hugs. May you become your own best advocate, protecting and nurturing that wounded child within.
I could have written this post, Libba. It is so exactly where I was last year. I wrote a post in January. I wouldn’t usually leave a link in a comment, but perhaps it will offer comfort to know that someone else has gone through the same thing. Since I spoke up about what I was going through, a lot of things have changed in my life. For the better. I’ll be thinking about you.
http://corrinejackson.com/wordpress/2014/01/13/depression-sucks-or-why-i-disappeared-online/
And so, I looked up from the abyss, and saw you standing there…
Thank you for describing the indescribable as only someone of your humanity and intelligence could. Sending you hugs from London. Keep fighting. The world needs and loves you.
Reblogged this on Biography of a Bipolar and commented:
A painfully accurate description of what it means to be depressed and fighting the stigma’s associated with it.
Thank you.
Libba Bray–
I am a writer too (you can google me if you want). I struggle with depression too. I’ve never written about it as well as you have. Thank you.
Kimberly Brubaker Bradley
I’m so glad you can be so much “yourself” as you were the addled teenager in Going Bovine. I have travelled in your shoes but I have clawed my way out for now. You will too. [hugs]
even “not alone” gives me the creeps,like not alone confessing to a shrink that you are once again at the bottom. Oneupsmanship of a double depression as so designated by the last professional I saw ,who called me the morning I awoke in the hospital after an overdose of anything I could swallow,who asked only if could not miss any more appointments…The Rodney Dangerfield-ish qualities of my plaintiff recounting that I’d lost my job of 20 years and had nothing to live for……….now when I say that,at least I can find some sick humor in adding ” yeah but that was thirteen years ago, it just didn’t strike me as drastic till now”.Makes me wish for a midlife crisis….anything solve-able…..oh and trapped by Grandchildren and my own 44 and 45 year old daughters…and Bank of America is depending on me too. Thank you so much for your eloquence and courage and being true March is here and seed catalogs though not in focus are at least in the room with us all.
johnrb3
Thank you. You’re not alone.
I love this sentence.
“This is not a fucking happy face bandage on the very real torment of depression.”
This is so powerful. Thank you for sharing.
We NEED to share this with the world! We cannot remove the stigma if we never say anything. Thank you for sharing this!
besides. I reallly like your writing.
I applaud you Libba … I call what people do “The Head Tilt” how are you? You know they mean well, but I fear the head tilt.
As always you inspire me.
I read every word.
a beautiful compassionate encouragement to those who know what you are talking about. and i think a good way to try to convey it to those who don’t. wishing you the best in your own struggles and thank you so much for this wonderful essay,which i will share.
Thank you courageous one in telling how it is for you. Just to say, ‘fighting’ depression only prolongs it. Learning to accept and co-operate with it helps a swift recovery and helps you discover the personal growth learning which hide’s in depression’s shadows. I know my view is innovative… discovered as both a psychotherapist and a ‘recovering depressive!’ Please visit my blog for more information http://www.bouncebackuk.com
I have never read your blog before. My daughter tweeted about it so I looked. And my reaction was immediate and complete. See, there are others out there. Between S.A.D. and plain old-fashion “depression” I find myself deep in that well of darkness. I’m going to download this if I can figure out how to… And while we know that the well is dark and wet and VERY deep at times, the fact there are others like you and me makes me feel a bit better. Maybe the next time the well won’t be as deep, as dark and dank! Thank you.
This is beautiful and true. Thank you.
So wonderfully written. Depression is one of those invisible illnesses. As Styron wrote in “Darkness Visible,” it is a staircase that leads only down. I have MS, with its attendant depression, and even tho I am in a wheelchair and so my “problem” is plain to see, it is impossible to describe/explain, and can only be understood – like depression – by those who live it. Keep writing and sharing – you help!
I love you
You’ve been heard. And by many hearts that bleed like yours, alone and ashamed, but now we have the realization that another dear person is encumbered by the heaviness of this awful disease. I am one, too. I hang on to the words of my doctor: “It will not always be like this. It will get better.” And it does, sometimes for long periods. But when it returns, we need those words again. So I share them with you: It will not always be like this. It will get better.
Thank you. I have been trying to explain to my husband about the third-party in our marriage, Ms. Clinical Depression, for twenty-five years. I will show him your post. You have written what I could not.
Thank you.
I’m crying because the truth of your words hit me like a ton of bricks (which only added another weight to the ton already there). I wish I could just carry around a copy of your paragraph that begins, “Depression is hard to understand, because it is not a consistent state….You think, well, maybe this thing has moved on now. And you make no sudden moves for fear of attracting its abusive attention again,” have it laminated, and pass it out to my friends and family that don’t understand the weight of depression. Thank you for baring your soul and for giving me hope. We’re all in this together.
Thank you for posting this. I’ve been under this weight for the last 10 months and only now am starting to come out on the other side–this time around. It’s been a constant battle from when I was a teenager and even with my trusty resources, it takes a lot out of you to understand that others see value in you, so you should, too.
Thank you for having the courage to even articulate, much less, post this. You aren’t alone (even when the voice from that hole inside tries to convince you that you are). xo
have you seen this? http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2011/10/adventures-in-depression.html
I very well could have written that. I am at a very low point and am struggling.
Wow. Your words have truly touched me. I have major depressive disorder and I have never been able to explain it as well as you did here. I have struggled to make friends and family understand, but it is so difficult if you have never felt it. Thank you for sharing this and best of luck in your journey.
stay true amd strong
Depression Experince brethren right here! Great Writing 🙂 Really enjoyed reading this. Check out my latest post that I wrote tonight. It’s about Mental Health too.
Reblogged this on real naija celebrities magazine.
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Reblogged this on anmollyy and commented:
Beautiful
Thank you for this post. For me I’ve always been able to put on a brave face in public so it seems like nothing is wrong, even when there is. My best friend used to know because I would suddenly stop returning her calls, but for everyone else there’s no obvious signs. I think the hardest thing to do is ask for help.
Rationally reassuring.
Reblogged this on dliwcanis.
Your words have left me quite unable to breathe. Your description of depression is the most perfect and fitting on rice ever read. How you’ve managed to describe such an ugly monster with such exquisite words astounds me. Thank you for this, I will be sharing it far and wide and keeping a copy for myself to read and re-read. Let me say this: the world is a better place for having you in it.
You’re helping many of us stay the course. Thank you.
Dear Libba, I am a 61 year old family physician who inherited a depressive brain from my momma. Our abnormal brains are largely treatable with well tolerated modern medicines that generally return most of us who suffer from mental illness to near normal. Counsellors essentially help by assisting us in unpacking and discarding the excess baggage from family of origin and life issues (which reduces our stressors). Stressors exacerbate our inherited disease. Depression is not a spiritual weakness or punishment from God because of sinfulness . . . If that we’re so, everyone would be depressed, for we are all screw ups! If you are interested in advice from an old man who has been there, my email address is . Bruce Records, M.D.
Great article.
My black dog is always with me. It’s on a lease at the moment but sometimes it tries to pull me down.
My solace is my bike, and my therapist the road on which I ride.
Stay strong
Brava to you for writing about something so close to your heart. I only hope I can do the same.
Impeccable timing…
Thank you for your honest and wise piece. My thoughts are with you.
Good post 🙂
thank u for ur transparency!!! it is often what is most needed to face the difficult times that we fight to make sense of!!! I pray for ur continued strength and the gift that u have in ur ability to commit ur thoughts/feelings to written form!!! (((HUGS)))
Reblogged this on "Something to Sit With…".
Thank you for your courage in sharing your experience with depression. Your words are hauntingly beautiful and gut wrenchingly accurate. I hope you find writing to be as healing as I have in my ongoing, active fight for recovery.
Very well done. I needed this today. Sounds like I’m not the only “choir” that you’re preaching to. I call depression my “old friend”.
Thank you so much for writing with such honesty and eloquence. I’ve been struggling with a lot of the things you shared, and I have not yet worked up the courage to speak it aloud to many of those closest to me, but this post is another push towards openness and vulnerability. Thank you for the reminder that “we are not alone”
I relate so much to this post it hurts a bit.
Good
Beautifully written. You have put into words what I have so long tried to.
I really like the way you write…keep going… visit mine… http://mindtechnorms.wordpress.com
Agree. I didn’t say it nearly as eloquently, but my post had a different aim. I’d noted that, in my case, there was a relationship between the sadness, crying and dysfunction and, of all things, exercise. More exercise, less mental health. You mentioned a three-mile run?
I’m not silly enough to claim that what’s working for me will work for everyone. But I’m also not silly enough to believe that exercise automatically increases well-being in everyone. I’m recording my search for answers and my experiments in the following post, if you might be interested: http://cherriezell.com/2013/06/24/exercise-depressed/
I love the resistance fighter analogy. So true.
Depression is a bear.
It drags you down into its cave and it holds you there in the darkness. You look up and you can see it grinning down at you – a hard and nasty I’m-gonna-hold-you-down grin filled with an undeniable certainty and a mouthful of un-colgated teeth.
You close your eyes and say “There ain’t no bear here” but you can still feel it’s weigh and smell it’s dank close reeking undeniable existence.
Winters are the worst for me.
I try and tell myself that the darkness will pass and then that old bear rises up again and tells me that the light switch has been broken and I pray for a dawn that I figure won’t ever come.
I have learned to try and function as best as I can – deep within that old bear’s cave. I try not to kid myself about that bear ever truly going away. I remind myself that the bear is a part of me and I do my darndest to give that bear a big old bear hug.
It’s hard, Libba. It is especially hard for us writers – folks who live buried so deeply inside their head-space already.
Hang in their Libba. Light the candles against the darkness and grin that old bear as best as you can. Tell him – in your best Yogi Bear impression – that you are smarter than the average depression.
Reblogged this on YOURS IN STORYTELLING… and commented:
I came across this blog entry over at Libba Bray’s own blog and it bit a chunk out of my heart.
Wow. Thank you for sharing this very moving post with us.
I’m constantly surprised when I read yet another author talk of depression. You may be right that we write to fight the depression inside us, The Illness does not make the Artist but his fight against the illness may do so.
I find myself huddled in the bedroom refusing to answer the door and haven’t answered a phone in over ten years. I fight on because I have a daughter and a new grandson but can never be sure when the day will come when the pain is just too much.
I don’t leave the house unless I have to but recently took a bus alone which I haven’t for many a year. I sit frightened someone will speak to me, and have to be met at the other end of the journey,but it’s progress of a kind.
Things have been bad since I lost my wife/best friend last year but I can’t describe the feelings to anyone. I stare at her remaining morphine and wonder what if……….
You describe the feelings so well and obviously understand the pain. I wish you well, and hope someday your pain will just disappear and let you enjoy life as it should be enjoyed.
xxx Huge Hugs xxx
This is an astounding blog post. You have my respect and empathy. Depression is exactly as you say – it’s not something that can be seen, monitored or drawn up on an electronic graph for people to see, which makes mental health troubles so bloody difficult to get across to people who just can’t grasp how we feel. I think every person with mental illnesses of any sort experience something completely unique to one another, which makes it hard to even try to articulate how we feel to others who have what we technically have. Depression, depression, bipolar, bipolar… Your post here has given me knew insight & I want to read all of your works. It took courage and compassion to write that. I tip my hat to you!
This post has been inspiring and reassuring. You are not alone and neither is anybody reading this but sometimes you need someone to reach out and show you so thank you very much.
Reblogged this on unseeninsecurity.
This is the best I have read about depression from the viewpoint of the one afflicted.
I, too, can relate. Depression held me in its cruel grip far too often. The longest/worst was for a solid nine months during which I gave up on life itself. Fortunately, life won out, due to faith and my loving Saviour. Without that relationship the battle would be unbearable for me. Now, when I feel depression sneaking up on me in attempts to take over, I can recognize its stench and take steps – sometimes strides – to move outside its reach.
Some helpful things for me, besides prayer, have been/are B-12 shots, vitamin D, St. John’s Wort, a special SAD lamp, and regular help from my Naturopath for specific-to-me assistance. Sometimes it’s an imbalance somewhere that needs correction, even something as simple and amazing as particular dietary changes.
Depression has haunted and tormented me most of my life, always lurking, hovering, and I’m now a grandma — but depression can be beaten – at the least, managed.
I wish you well as you strive to keep moving forward.
Thank you for your bravery in sharing from the depths of your pain. And thanks to Steve Vernon for reblogging this post, which is how I was made aware of it.
Excellent post.. Thanks
I couldn’t stop reading. I felt although I was that person you where writing about. I will be reading your posts again. Following, it was great.
This is a brave post. Thanks for not perpetuating societies need to pretend we are all okay, all of the time.
Reblogged this on karmalee00's Blog and commented:
This is a great bit of writing so I’ve re blogged it. Hope others the connect with it as I die .
Thank you. Your words resonate with me and I find strength and support from them. More importantly someone gets where I have been. I think its being at war with oneself. But your words make me feel that when one battle has been won. Future battles get easier to face. Thank you again.
Being able to find words that perfectly capture how I feel has been the most cathartic thing for me in this past low point I have been struggling with.
I genuinely could not be more grateful for this post because often times I feel like depression is a monster that isolates us, because it knows when we are alone we are our weakest. It feeds off of our emptiness and fills it with doubt and insecurity. It forces us to think that anyone who doesn’t understand what we are going through is our enemy, but that just isn’t the case. Our enemy is this monster, who fights against us and deprives us of hope.
I have learned and been reminded through this post that the only thing stronger than my fear that I will never dig myself out of this hole, is the hope that I will, and the knowledge that I have done it time and time again.
Thank you again, truly.
Wow. The popularity of blogging has brought such honesty to the subject of mental health over the past few years. This post, by Libba Bray, is amazingly eloquent and refreshingly heartfelt.
Reblogged this on Mindful Musings at Midlife and commented:
Wow. The popularity of blogging has brought such honesty to the subject of mental health over the past few years. This post, by Libba Bray, is amazingly eloquent and refreshingly heartfelt.
Thank you for this. If I ever doubted the value of good writers to put the reality of experience into words, I don’t doubt it now.
http://www.mesbat.com/
I’m just one of many voices to say, “Thank you.” Not because I’ve lived it, but because I haven’t… and friends around me have.
Forgive us for where we’ve been the well-meaning boors saying, “Why don’t you just get over it?”
And thank you for helping us to understand. Your analogies and pictures are perfect. Keep fighting, and keep recruiting more to your side.
I’m crying as I write this because every word rings so true. And unless you’ve experienced it, you can never understand it. And even when you find something that makes it bearable, there’s always a tiny thought in the back of your mind – that it could come back at any time.
Very well put. Thank you for sharing. It’s comforting to know that this state of being is not unique to me.
Reblogged this on The Process of Healing and commented:
Just, wow. I’ve never read a more accurate description. In fact, I almost want to show my psychiatrist, “here! This is it! This is what I’m feeling all the time! I couldn’t find the words myself, but this is it!”
“Continued, imperfect striving.” I think that is something i try to remember and makes me feel better. It’s not one goal to end up “being happy.” For me, its remembering that there is no such thing, that my everyday perspective can change and doesn’t have to be bleak. Thank you for writing this and sharing it.
Ahhhh… the undertow. I know it well. You have done a great job opening up and your writing is superb. Such perfect descriptions of what the depression feels like. With every post we write, we are removing some of the stigma. Bravo! 🙂
Reblogged this on mrsmafbee and commented:
Writing heals ♡
Reblogged this on Musings of an Insomniac and commented:
I hit a new low last night- a break that had been coming for months, I suppose. The darkness has been closing in for a while, and every time I beat it back, I think I’m better and that I’ve won, but depression isn’t something you can fight off once and be done with. It’s a struggle each and every day.
Today I found this fantasic piece by author Libba Bray about depression. I implore anyone and everyone to read this piece. It is everything I have felt for so many months, described in words I don’t think I could have ever found. If you are, or know anyone, who is depressed, this is a small sliver of what it’s like to be in the black hole. It’s not meant to be sympathy or pity inducing, I just want to share this with everyone in my life that has been on the outside, wondering what the last few months have been about and how I’ve tumbled into the mess I’m in right now. Depression is one of the hardest things to write about, and I haven’t had such a serious bout with it in over a year. I hope that last night was the turning point. And as Libba writes, if I don’t respond to your email, I’m sorry- it may be a while.
Thank you for that.
Reblogged this on theoutlawsinterest and commented:
Quite relatable. Eloqu
Step, breathe, step, breathe, step, breathe…
Yes, you’ve got it bad. I cover my depression with addictions, which is a whole other can of worms. Quit smoking, yet again, but this time (it’s really short)….artrosch.com. There’s a qualititative difference. Beautifully written despair, Libby. I’m sorry your pain is so great. I’ve been there.
Hey check out my new blog itll be interactive nothing off limits and everything can be discussed from you the reader =) hope to hear from you!!!
Wow. I’ve not experienced the darkness and hopeless. So probably shouldn’t even comment, but how can I not? I don’t do Facebook. But my niece sent this to me. I have visited my nephew in the hospital after he shot himself in the mouth in bi-polar depression, and my niece has suffered it for years, through anorexia. Heartbreaking. I know it’s an illness. I have one myself. Spasmodic torticollis. Never goes away, unless I’m asleep. Closest analogy I can experience, Many with my condition commit suicide. It never ends, as with depression. My salvation? Not easy. What can be done? All I can say is look at Christ on the cross. He spent his life, and gave it up, for me. In suffering, far beyond mine. I hope He did it for you too. He rose again. Hope, from hopelessness. It’s all we’ve got. It’s enough. There is grace. It’s His. Perhaps it can be yours too. Peace to all.
You’ve said it well. In comparison, my struggles with depression have been mild, but real nonetheless.
‘Fine’ can mean so many things. For me if often means ‘don’t judge me for not being fine’ or ‘screaming on the inside, thanks.’
Thank you for sharing your struggle. Best wishes.
Welcome to the land of the living… 😉
Reblogged this on A.R. Rivera Books and commented:
This piece is so eloquent, so touching, I have to share it.
There is no way anyone could express this better. Thank you for sharing your journey.
This is truly truly beautiful. Though I’ve been on both sides of this coin – as a mental health counselor and dealing with my own personal depression – I really have never heard it explained so clearly.
This is an incredibly well-written post. Thank you for this. I’ll come back and read this next time I’m feeling alone in things.
Hello, thank you for sharing. You write really well. In fact, your words were so vivid it brought me almost right back to my darkest days. Those days now seem a blur, maybe mostly because I don’t care to remember them.
Bless your heart for writing so honestly. I truly appreciate it. It’s good to know I’m not alone in this fight.
Reblogged this on Blended Family Chaos and commented:
Really insightful, heartfelt, and gut-wrenchingly honest blog about depression.
It will resonate with anyone who has ever battled this.
Wow, just Wow! I admire your courage, Libba Bray. Fantastic post.
your way of writing really inspires me… thanks for sharing such a beautiful post… i hope you will entertained by visiting http://mindtechnorms.wordpress.com
Reblogged this on haitianbarbiek.
By the end of this I was in tears, because I saw so much of myself. As you stated, we are not alone. Thank you for this post.
Hauntingly beautiful. I can relate.
Reblogged this on Chasing Sheherazade and commented:
Fairy tales are wonderful things to talk about and analyze, but imagine actually dealing with one of those creatures in real life in the form of depression. Libba Bray’s blog took my breath away. It reminded me that I have been trying to fight my demons with my words and that’s okay.
Reblogged this on batpandaoftheopera and commented:
Wow… This is achingly perfect.
Wonderful – really!
I hate it most when my curiosity fails.That is the me-est parof me.
When it returns I am on the rebound.
I also dislike the lack of tactile sense I experience at these times. I literally lose touch.
I am in-me-ed.
Thanks for your observations on curiosity and touch. I’ve experienced the same!
Thank you for sharing this. I wish that I had words to give back to you that are as helpful and as brave as the words you gave to us. I guarantee that these words will be a lifeline to someone. I’ve been in the place you describe, and it’s something I can never forget. I wish you comfort and peace and moments of joy. (((hugs)))
This is the most honest and accurate description of depression I’ve ever read. Thank you so much for sharing this. I know it will help many others. Peace be with you.
As many others have agreed, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything that comes so close to really conveying the pain, misery, and hopelessness that comes with depression. The bathtub metaphor, especially. As I am (hopefully) emerging from one of the more severe depressive episodes of my lifetime, several friends and family members have expressed to me that they are always looking for things (descriptions, explanations, etc.) to help them better understand what I have been going through. Thank you for writing this, and for making it available for others to share.
There are too many perfect articulations in this post for me to single them out. But what I will do is thank you. I’ll thank you for shattering the silence which leads to death. I’ll thank you for your empathy and understanding. I’ll thank you simply because it needs thanking. And I’ll wish for you warm towels and a soft nest. God bless.
Thank you for explaining it so well. Meghan
depression is extremely difficult to talk about, especially with people that don’t understand. I went through a severe bout for a couple of years when I was living abroad. When I returned home, I decided the best way for me to face it was to talk about it. I began forcing myself to journal about it, identify the emotions individually, so I could recognize the signs when it was coming on again. I analyzed potential triggers, and learned what tools I had to derail them. And finally, I tried to confide in my best friend about it, tell her exactly what I had experienced, that I was trying to heal and so on. She stopped me as I began to get going and said, “I don’t want to hear this, it hurts too much.”
I think that wast the most damaging thing she could have done. Had she simply not understood and allowed me to explain, it would have been better, because I would still be talking about it. But to tell me that it was hurting her to much to hear it, and that I shouldn’t talk about it – it set me back a few steps, made me feel selfish for wanting to express myself. It caused me to wonder if I should even be feeling the way I was to begin with, and in some ways, I had to start all over again.
Good for you for confronting it, for writing about it, for talking to the world about it. Many people just don’t understand, don’t know what it’s like. Good luck to you and your journey through yourself 🙂
I had the same reaction from my best friend. To this day I still have an issue telling her anything of an emotionally sensitive nature anymore. It sucks, I’m sorry it happened to you too.
Your right. Your not alone. Although depression makes you feel that so alone & isolated. I have 2 clients commit suicide in the last 30 years of practicing outpatient therapy. I saw their pain. I get it. I struggle with depression myself. Know that emotional pain never killed anyone. Unless it’s self inflicted killing I mean. Thank you for sharing. I wish more people had the courage to share how immobilizing and frightening it can be. You post shows a level of strength you have, but may not feel. Hang in
Wow! This was such an honest and powerful post. Ironically, I just posted today about my brother’s similar journey as he has made his own way through the miles of No-Man’s Land. While I’ve been there for him, there with him, I’m not him and can’t begin to understand fully. Thank you for this post.
My book, Crazy, (Oct. 20, 2014/Eerdmans) is about my coming to terms with my mother’s bipolar disorder. I wrote it because I hope others who have been affected by someone with bipolar or any kind of depression will seek comfort or find the help they need. I LOVED the honesty and sincerity of this post and I truly hope that you, Libba, find those who will listen without judgment and love you for simply being.
Your words are more than adequate and you have been heard. You may suffer from depression but you are amazing and brave! Don’t forget that.
Reblogged this on Hope is Everything! and commented:
Libba Bray on Depression. This is an honest, heart wrenching piece that touched my soul. Share this with others that they might understand, even just a little.
Wow. Very well done, Libba. Powerful writing.
This was a beautiful piece of writing which told the truth. All of what you wrote is so very true. I wish my beautiful 23 year old daughter who was just starting her 3rd year of medical school had read this article. Maybe she would not have felt so alone in her depression, a depression that she expertly hid all her life from us and her friends. We only learned about it in her suicide note. She died 4-11-13. Highly achieving and highly functional until the very last day. Thank you for this very important post. I hope you can stay out of “no man’s land.”
Reblogged this on My Bright Shining Star and commented:
Everyone should read this.
A very honest account of real life. Thank you for sharing.
It does feel just like that… Thank you for writing this.
Reblogged this on Mood Swings & Insomnia Ha Ha and commented:
An interesting post about the woes of being a writer while battling depression. Very interesting. Let it all out love, We understand
Thank you for this blog. It is completely authentic and expresses in words so precisely what depression is and I thank you for that. I have never been able adequately describe what it is to suffer from depression anywhere near the way you have.Thank you!
This is a truly powerful piece of writing. You are truly a ‘resistance fighter’…I wish you the best on your journey.
Reblogged this on myownheart.me.
Thank you. Dear God… Thank you. I’ve been at war with depression and anxiety disorder since childhood. I’ve been at the low points and the functional ones. And too many times, I’ve been told “What do you have to be depressed about? You have a good life. Just cheer up. Stop whining.” Yeah… because I would totally choose to be miserable if I had a choice.
You are not alone. *We*–all of us at war with our own minds–are not alone. And again, thank you for sharing this.
Thank you..I suffer from depression and anxiety myself. I noted the date this was written..March 2, 2014..the 2 year date from when my son Tyler took his life. He suffered from depression. We didn’t know how deeply till we read his journals after. He was in that hole. He had no hope. Your words are shining a light on this subject..bringing it out into the open. Thank you.
As a fellow depressive, let me recommend Lars von Trier’s Melancholia.
I made the mistake of reading this at work and am now sitting here, tears streaming down my face, praying that no one comes to ask me a question. This. This is everything I have ever felt, the monster I fight every day and that I have been unable to adequately articulate. Thank you, so so much for this.
Thank you. Today has been a particularly hard day, and I needed this. I wish you hope.
Beautiful. Thank you.
My son battled depression for almost 10 years that I am aware of. He finally ended his life 3 years ago leaving a wife and an infant son. People cannot understand his actions. This blog put it so well. He lost the battle. He needed relief. He took his life to end the pain of living. He loved his wife and son. He did not want to die. I know that. I am so sad. My heart breaks. But, he felt he had no choice. He couldn’t live like that anymore.
So funny how we believe no other soul feels the same or understands until we stumble upon an outpouring like this that puts words to “it” and suddenly, “we are not alone.” Thank you, dear one. God bless you…
A powerful post!!!
Reblogged this on The Girl In The Orange and commented:
As usual, Libba Bray made some amazing words that got me thisclose to crying, and they’re on a topic that EVERYONE needs to understand better.
Reblogged this on khrystleraineduste and commented:
Thanks for the timely view… it DOES help…
I understand that dark 22 years of the soul. Still on meds and struggling to find a new psych to prescribe meds.
Thank you for writing this, brave lady. I am not where you are now, down in the trenches, but I have been there, and doubtless I will be there again. Depression is not a dog that lets go easily. Your words are a candle in the dark, and you have my thanks and my sincere well-wishes. The sun always comes out again.
Reblogged this on The Peculiar Life And Times Of MissLazyJ and commented:
This is the first post from someone else that I’ve felt compelled to reblog here. Usually, I just post things like this to Twitter, but this particular piece resonated with me so much that I’ve decided to share it here, too.
Depression is a motherfucker. I’ve been battling it hard in recent months, as have some other people that I care about. This post is for those of us who are fighting in the trenches. We are not alone. We are loved. We are worthy. It’s far too easy to forget that when your mind is playing tricks on you. Keep fighting and forgive yourself for not being perfect. We are all just flawed humans, after all, and that is okay.
All I can say is I’ve been there, more times than I care to. Like you, I find hope in the things around me, my family, books, my writing. It keeps me going, fighting the good fight.
If it helps, some of the strongest people I know suffer or have suffered from depression. One friend said that he came out of his worst bout with confidence, knowing that he had reached rock bottom and come out alive.
All things must pass. It will. Hold on. As you rightly wrote, you are not alone.
Love and best wishes.
MTM
Great blog! feel free to post a link to it in our group on Facebook, https://www.facebook.com/groups/Abloggingcommunity/
I hear you.
I most identify with the not-getting-the-email-out-in-a-timely-manner. I am thinking about replying to 2012 (yes, 2012) Christmas cards that I recently opened. I do not go through bouts of depression, I live in it. It is called “dysthymia”. I experience numbness and have no initiative. The fact that I am writing this suggests I am improving from my state of total dysfunction.
Some professionals say depression is rage turned inwards. Some truth may be in that. But doesn’t that make me solely responsible then? Doesn’t that take the disease out of it? Unless we want to see every disease having underlying psychological reasons, which undoubtly some people, then “internal rage” should not be the label put on depression.
At first I wanted very much to hate you for writing this as you kicked loose the depression dust I had so carefully placed on high shelves far, far away from my knowing. Now I realize if I ever happen upon you in NYC I will likely grab a hold of you and hug you and hug you some more (please don’t have me arrested) for sharing these beautiful and terribly painful words.
You brought tears to me eyes while sitting on a 5 a.m. train into Manhattan going to a job I hate, but one that feeds my family. Life at times is a crushing weight I am unable to shrug off which in of itself adds yet another layer of confusion.
Very, very often the walls of the tub are just too far about our heads, but I hope at no point do you ever allow this beast to ever overcome you and stop you from clawing at the walls in an effort to get out….
Thank you, I love you for your bravery in writing this article – keep going!
For something so difficult to articulate, you have articulated it with passion and power. I am so sorry you have to suffer like this. Thank you for your courage and may you find reason to hope again very, very soon.
I am the mother of a depressive, gentle man; daughter-in-law of a man who went through many shock treatments for depression. I have a number of friends on the depressive scale. And several friends have killed themselves. I have never been (except situationally) depressed myself.
So I both get it and don’t get it. But Libba–with this cris de coeur, you have helped me understand them and my responses.
I send hugs for the hard times, and a promise of a closer inspection of what I do with the knowledge I now have.
xxxJane
Reblogged this on Human Relationships.
Thank you so much for this! It is a constant battle but there is hope!
You put into words what some of us can not. Thank you.
Brave post. More people need to speak of mental illnesses, to help remove that stigma that only adds to the burden of the illness itself. I do not have depression–I have anxiety. I do not understand depression as you do, but I do understand the struggle of getting through every day, of having to fight to reach normal, or something approaching normal. Keep fighting, Libba. You are not alone, and things do get better. Thank you for speaking on a topic many people are afraid to broach.
I am here to say that I have been there, and so knowing its terror, can only gape at your translucent, logical and loving examination. So important as you say to know that you are not alone, not weak or shameful or untrustworthy, or eroded to worthlessness. And the MOST important, to understand the real relief, is ONLY to live NOT sunk in the black depths; that is the only savior. You who have not been clinically depressed cannot perceive of the illness that is hopelessness, but those who are touched by it will try, thanks be. For parallel, call it chemical torture, and support the support please. If it helps, I personally have lived in the relief, never to sink so low as I did 20 years ago..oh gratitude for happy ‘normalcy’ with ANY of its ups and downs! Hope to you m’dear and so many others in depression for the same ongoing result. Hugs.
Thank you this is also lovely
It’s incredible that you’ve taken something so many of us have no idea how to explain, and have made it so terribly beautiful. While reading your post, I kept stumbling upon small traces of myself and what I’ve been through, but never knew how to put into words. You’ve given a voice to so many of us who feel unheard, and it’s truly magical to me. You must know how inspiring you are. I know exactly how this feels, I know how it hurts. But I also know that it gets better–it always gets better. So keep writing, and stay strong.
Being human is hard, we struggle with so many things, I hope you are fighting it minute by minute and the sun shines on you today. Brave post, well said and so many can resonate.
Reblogged this on The Crabbefoot Chronicles and commented:
Perfect, personal, powerful and provoking.
Dear Libba, I was looking at the Southampton conference website and then began to read your blog. It is evident in your picture above (if that’s you) that an innate and piercing sensitivity fuels you but comes at a terrible price.
I imagine you might share with me a sense that although your writing saves you from a feeling of worthlessness, you might not reach the Donna Tartt holy grail wherein writing is ALL.
There are times when depression is bottomless; one can not begin to imagine reckoning with the depth of it. But these are the times—gasping for air—when you might come in touch with Awareness, in a moment containing a metaphysical experience that you will never forget.
Depression pain is so extreme that in essence it is impossible to verbalize. Except, here in your blog, you have done exactly that—you have set it out so clearly it is palpable. Most of us who have read and understood what you mean, and who are responding to you with admiration, want to shout BRAVO so loud that you can HEAR us! Your great talent is a gift that we hope will sustain your optimism as it gives you voice.
Please don’t stay away TOO long. We want to know what power you have claimed to fight the demons. We need your guidance. You are out ahead, high above us on the mountain trail.
WOW!!! I have been fighting this war too, for the past 14 months, and this one just wont let go, no matter how hard I try to shake it. Your words ring so true, NO MANS LAND!!!, for me its also like being buried alive, you have fallen down a hole and the sand has fallen in on top of you, and compacted around your chest, and every breath you take the sand compacts more.
Some people have told me to get over it, every one feels sad at some time, “I FREAKEN NO”, some tell me to think of positive happy things, “I FREAKEN NO”, people give me well meaning advise “I FREAKEN NO”, I find when they do this I just clam up more, I feel like Im letting them down if, what they have told me isn’t working at the time. I’m sorry if I boar you!, I’m sorry i’m not trying harder!, I’m sorry I’m putting pressure on you, and DON’T! say I’m not because I see it in your face!, and don’t “FREAKEN ASK ME TO TELL YOUR THE TRUTH, WHEN YOU ASK ME HOW I’M DOING, IF YOU REALLY DONT WANT TO KNOW THE ANSWER!!”.
I want to say thank you, from the bottom of my heart for making this blog, and giving those of us a voice, for putting what we have, into words that are generally so hard to pull out.
Oh and yes I know I have spelling mistakes, brain is a bit jumbled.
Reblogged this on Sunrise to Starlight and commented:
I don’t reblog things very often (possibly because I don’t post things that often – although this is soon to change!) but I found this incredibly moving, impassioned and like a window into something I try, and often fail, to fully comprehend.
For someone you love to be in a place you can’t fully reach is hard. It is trying and it is difficult and there seems to be nothing to say to make it right, to show you understand or appreciate something that isn’t really available to be appreciated by yourself, not really, not fully.
But the imagery, and the truth, in this post really touched me, and I wanted to pass it along.
Thank you, for the wonderful book Going Bovine, and thank you for your brave, beautiful post above. I wish there was something I could say that would change things, but, unfortunately, I actually know something about the subject matter. When I got the news about Ned Vizzini, it was like a punch in the stomach: The undertow got another one of us swimmers, in a trough between waves, so deep, he couldn’t even see the lights of shore. Or even remember the feeling of seeing that light.
So I wish there was something more profound, or helpful, I could say other than thank you, and my deep wish is that you find what works for you. (Exercise, the medication, regular contact with friends, therapy…) Wishing you more color, and a lighter shade of gray.
Take care of yourself, and try to let in the love,
Dean Gloster
Reblogged this on A Guitar with no Strings and commented:
Painfully honest and authentic. Thank you for your transparency!
Thank your for your honesty and expressing so well what I have such difficulty explaining.
Reblogged this on HeatherN.
Very well said Amy. That feeling of loneliness, hopelessness and self loathing is a great way of putting it. You do learn to deal with it and it’s really tough some days. I’ve heard someone say you’re just a weak person. Everyone gets it sometimes so just deal with it. UGH!!! I am a very strong person. The doctor told me that with ADHD comes depression. Told him I don’t feel depressed. It is a chemical thing. Some of us have less serotonin than others. Winter has not been kind to us this year!
Everyone is a work in progress every day. Some days you feel great. Then you can walk into a room and feel your insides drop. Unless you have it is it easy to understand. Sometimes I feel like I am acting. Smiling on the outside and inside I’m afraid of what people are thinking. There is always hope. You are a tough girl. Some days like I said are tougher. Looks like you touched on a subject that hits home to a lot of people. Love you bunches. xox
Well.. in my own experience in dealing with this you describe, there is nothing better than being able to recognise the symptoms so clearly. This is a huge advantage since you are conscious of what is going on and being aware that the chemicals in your brains are the ones to blame for the way you perceive everything… is key.
As for some solutions I have found as well, there is an oxitocine therapy I have been taking and it is brilliant. The best thing I have found.
Beautifully written, thank you. Depression is like a sea of darkness and sometimes there are lights that flicker through. Thank you for being that light that i’m sure has brightened up many peoples darkness this week.
Libba, be well. Keep fighting. I call it the “rat in the soul”… the pain you can’t do anything about, and sometimes the only hope left in the darkest moments is the ending… suicide is not an act of selfishness, especially in talented people. I think “non-artists” (sorry to sound so pretentious) don’t get that the price of creative talent–especially the kind that can mix humor and social commentary and give it soul and life–is that there is usually an “interesting” life behind it (i.e. trauma, pain, abuse, and other picture postcards from the fringes of Hell).
“The rat” has has put my life on hold for almost three years now, meaning nothing–not two novels, not art, not anything–has been finished.
But I keep fighting. I’m entering into a new therapy (for me) that has a great track record with PTSD in particular, EMDR. I have great hope (and, thankfully, a great support system) that it will help.
For whatever it’s worth, your books are on that shelf of things that give me hope–I treasure my autographed copy of Going Bovine not just for the beautiful work it is, but for the memory of the signing–you telling me it was your “ten-year novel.” It’s one of those memories that keeps me going and makes me determined to get through this.
You’re not alone–and yes, in those dark, dark moments, you are alone in the dark, fighting the pain. But, for whatever it’s worth, you have made the world a brighter place–as a mother and as an artist.
I wish you all good things.
You have obviously reached many others with this beautiful post. I’ve always thought about whether artists and writers were prone to depression more than others, but having so many friends who have dealt with depression on and off again, I think you may be right. That artists and writers simply brave the expression of that depression. Or use it to create. When others, living quieter lives, disappear without a body of work for others to sift through.
Love this: Time and again, I am humbled by the beautiful vulnerability and resilience of human beings trying to stay on the bendable side of that all-too-human fragility.
Love your blog. We need all the help we can get in this world in terms of decreasing the stigma of mental illness. Thank you for writing this.
Eckhart Tolle, Deepak Chopra…They saved my life.
Wow. Thank you for writing this. You’re a superb writer. Have you written more, a book, or a short stories?
Reblogged this on ezraarze.
I wrote this a while ago to try and explain how I feel when depression rears its head again.
“The demons are back. They have been quiet for a while, but I know them. They hide, gathering strength, waiting for that moment when the gap appears, so they can surge through and take control again. Tormenting, twisting their fingers within my brain, whispering their taunts in my ears, goading until I succumb to their lies, and can no longer hold onto me. Forcing me down, until they encase me with their writhing bodies, and no matter how loud I scream, no-one can hear. And they are clever, so clever. Because from the outside, the world sees a strong woman. Not the terrified child who needs someone to hold her hand, and keep her safe. And so the battle begins again.”
Thanks for this. I’ve always thought how brave suicide is. For the same reasons people think it’s selfish really.
I wonder whether you feel the mental health awareness ads (UK) are right? I was sceptical at first but think it’s a start.
Reblogged this on ardentfangirl.
Thank you so much for putting into words what I have been trying to say for three years now.
I only just heard -so very sorry! Take care of yourself. Your young fans at my school are thinking of you.
I will be thinking about you and praying that your visit to No Mans Land be short lived, my husband has visited many times and I suffer from Fibromyalgia and may visit no mans land on any given day for a short or long time! Yesterday’s hit for 30 minutes while grocery shopping, me fighting tears just let me finish this and by the time I was home I was in my way out! Jt us a crazy life but I pray you can learn to understand what sends you there and cope!
When asked what is wrong, I am always at a loss for words. You have taken my feelings and described them to a T. Some days I feel ready to conquer the world…. and others, I feel like I am going to die from trying anything. In my previous relationship, I was ridiculed for feeling this way and not knowing how to fix it. I am grateful to have someone who may not understand it, but respects me enough to know that I am not making it up and who tries to help as much as he can. He will appreciate this article, finally reading words that explain the situation. Thank you.
I gather from the previous comments that things aren’t well. Only hoping for you the best. Anyone who can articulate the situation so beautifully, while even in the shadow of depression, is a boon to all. Thank you. You are very important. Stick around.
Reblogged this on aimforsilverskies and commented:
“This is what it is to experience depression. It is the absence of hope.” That’s a spot on description.
Thank you for this. Many years ago, I inked the word “hope” into my skin, right across my spine. I put it there to remind me, in the depths of my hopelessness, that it exists – it is hiding, sometimes out of sight, but it is still with me, however small. I have needed this reminder so many times, and I know I will need it again. But in the meantime, thank you for your brave and beautiful words.
Thank you for posting this. It’s so hard to find the words to say about this, and you’ve put the words in front of me with clarity and eloquence. It brought a tear to my eye to read, because it helps me know I’m not alone – and that you aren’t, either. There’s hope for us all. We might be in the middle of storm with no umbrella, but the clouds will eventually clear. And while another one may be just around the corner, that one will end, too, and the sun will shine again.
I actually liked reading your writing content as it is very educational. I recommend you to submit blogposts even more frequentlydepression,depression symptoms,anxiety.
Yup, you’ve got it. You have expressed what so many of us have always wanted to put into words, but couldn’t. Thank you.
Thank you so much for sharing this amazing piece of writing. Everyone’s experience of depression is different, but I wept as I read your description, mostly in sheer relief that someone not only ‘gets’ it but has expressed it so well. I look forward to reading more of your work.
It seems a lot of people are crying in response to this – I am one of them, and they are tears of relief. The fact that words fail during ‘bad spells’ is always the thing that feels the most insurmountable: its frustrating and demoralising, but somehow you’ve found the words – beautifully lucid, coherent sentences – and for that I am eternally thankful to you.
Me too! Yes yes yes and yes to all your words! You say White Knuckling it. My sisters and I (fellow resistance fighters) say In the Alone Cone, or In the Belly of the Whale, or Hanging On With Bloody Fingernails. All code phrases we immediately understand so we can connect in 5 words or less (which is often the absolute limit on what we can offer). But it’s the connection that matters. It doesn’t make depression less real or the symptoms less painful, but it is a thinner-than-thin thread tethering us to anyone or anything “on the outside” as we say. It counts. You are brave and smart and generous with this post. I just came on today to check on more Diviners news – because I LOVE your writing and crave it like chocolate – and this post makes me want to tell you: no pressure. Take all the time. Live and fight and cry and white knuckle. I, for one, will wait decades and not lose a drop of momentum and eager adoration. I’ll tell you what I tell myself in the worst moments – this moment is not forever. It is not forever. It is not forever. I may not be able to even imagine that better exists out there, but I don’t have to. I just have to know this moment will not stay forever.
thank you so much for this. I’m in high school and it is good to know that an adult I look up to so much know’s exactly what I’m going through. Whenever I get so inexplicably lost within myself I pick up one of your books and drift into another world… they make it so easy. Probably because you understand.
Dear,,
Hi.. please introduce myself,,I am Asian,24 years old. I am unemployed. I have been fired from the job I was in twice. I can hardly find any other job bcs of my bad working experience on my cv.
Since then, I realized that I am a slow learner. I was fired bcs I did mistakes for so many times and didn’t understand the instructions properly.
Well, I have big problem with learning new thing. I used to be a very hardworker but still there always be some flaws on my work. My supervisor always mad at me like, “I’ve said it so many times!”. They did right thing. I didnt blame my previous supervisors who fired me. All I am blaming is my ability of learning and understanding.
Because of this,I know my weakness well. This leads me to have a terrible feeling when it comes to talk to someone, I’m always getting nervous and panic when I have to explain something. That’s one of the reason why I got fired. I have bad communication skill. Why, because I am afraid if I’m doing wrong.
Ever since the last day of my working, I haven’t applied for any job yet. I have traumatic feeling about getting fired. My mom always scold me and asking why I’m not looking for another Job. In fact, I never told this to anyone before include, (especially) my parents. I told them that my contract was terminated because I had to handle another job outside my Job desc. I didn’t tell them the honest reason.
I can’t even share this to my bestfriends bcs they are the people I am envy with. They are the people I wish I could be. They are now having good position in their company with good salary. I feel so much intimidated when we go out for cinema or just hanging out,, they’re all proudly spending their self-earn money and sharing their working experience. Meanwhile, I am still using my parent’s money,, and the leftover money from my last salary.Things are getting harder for me when they ask what my daily activities are. In fact Im just doing nothing at home.
I keep telling lies to everyone. I am really afraid to tell the truth and to be judged. Having myself as a slow learner has already become the most hurtful thing I have to face.
Now I am fighting so much againts my own anxiety and low self esteem. I am so afraid what if I never get a proper job.
I am really expecting for you to do me a favor about what to do? What am I supposed to do ?
I am so much thankful for your help..
Best Regards
@noodlesoup6
Hi Libba,
I hope this finds you a little more close to being “out of the woods.” Know that depression is beatable. But it’s not as simple as dropping a troublesome piece of bling into Mt. Doom and “poof!” you’ve won the tower of depression and all it’s nasty minions will crumble to the ground forever. Depression is a series of constant battles. And everyone deals differently: Ben & Jerry’s (Half-Baked, please), road rage, sarcasm, screaming, cursing, marathons of your favorite guilty pleasure TV show, bursting into tears as randomly as a Disney princess bursts into song… It’s frustrating as hell, because you don’t want to be that way. And it’s frustrating to friends and family because they want to help but don’t really know how. I don’t know exactly what you’re going through, but I have a very generalized understanding. I too battle with depression. Specifically, the seasonal kind that arrives in at the beginning of November and doesn’t relinquish its choke hold until April. This winter was particularly brutal for a number of reasons, and there were times when I didn’t want to leave the cocoon of my blanket. So yes, I understand…in a generalized way. Depression is all too familiar of a monster, and this post hit home, but I’m finally feeling human. And I hope you’re feeling better too. Hang in there. It’s all you can do. One day at a time and one day you’ll wake up and realize you won this round. If you can go head-to-head against something like depression, you can do anything!
hugs to you!
Alissa
This is wonderful writing about what depression is, but I actually disagree with calling it a disease. That emphasizes the individual nature of it, and that there’s even something wrong with the individual person. I think so many people are depressed, or have what’s called mental illness, because our society is so screwed up. We structure society to not give children (or adults) what they need, and then in some ways blame then when symptoms arise. The more sensitive ones show it, but it’s a common problem.
I tend to view depression as a truth showing itself, but it’s not just a truth in an individual, it’s a truth of society. It’s a core emptiness that most “healthy” ones share, but are able to divert attention from. Depression (and other ‘illnesses’) occur when the truth cannot be ignored any more.
The one factor that helped me the most was the ability to be myself and have close connections. To be depressed, or hurting, and have no immediate help come my way – just space and attention. To know there’s nothing really wrong with me, it’s just something voicing itself.
“It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society.”
J. Krishnamurti
I’ve been reading your blog for a long time and reading your works since I was a teenager and first read ‘A Great and Terrible Beauty’. Usually, I don’t leave comments but I thought this justified one. I just want you to know you’re not alone. I’ve fought with depression since I was fifteen and I am now twenty three years old. I know how it feels to be standing, teeter tottering on the edge of that black hole and the way you’ve wrote about it perfectly describes just how it feels. Like sitting in a tub of painful, numbing ice water and being unable to lift yourself out. I’ve attempted suicide a few times and have been in therapy off and on for it. The last low I hit started in 2013 and it got so bad that I could barely function. I couldn’t even eat because that would require getting out of the bed for longer than it would take to have a quick shower.
Thanks to therapy, meditation, and my loved ones I’m back on my feet again. Life is back to normal, but I know (as I’m sure you do) that the monster never really goes away. He just hides under the bed, or in it’s closet, waiting for the best opportunity to take over again. I’ve been better for almost a whole year now, though. And, well… I just wanted to say that when it feels you are out there walking through the miles and miles of No Man Land, and it feels like you are literally carrying the weight of the depression on your shoulders, don’t be afraid.. You are a resistance fighters, as am I and all the rest of us who’ve struggled with this pain. Although you cannot see us and though we are miles away in our own No Man Lands, we walk beside you. We are never truly alone, it’s only the hands of the monster covering are eyes that makes it hard for us to see.
Stay strong and take it one step at a time. And, if it helps any, I’m sending you a long distance hug. Love is the only thing I’ve found that is stronger than depression. *hugs*
Thank you so much for writing this eloquent piece on depression. I have been battling for over 8 years. I’ve never read anyone write so accurately what I I am living with on a daily basis. I love your term “white Knuckling it”. it is so appropriate. thanks for reminding me that I am not alone. Jenn
Reblogged this on chelseaknight2012's Blog and commented:
Just read this and Libba Bray has always been one of my favorite authors and to think that anyone you know could be suffering from depression. This strikes a chord deep inside me because my half Andrew struggled with depression before he passed away in a car accident 8 years ago and his brother Austin recently passed away from struggling with depression in March. I’m one of those people who internalizes all their pain and doesn’t like to talk about it and it gets built up and it can turn ugly quickly, which is why I turned to music and then books and TV and movies when my brother died so I didn’t have to deal with real life, but they also helped me cope and know that I wasn’t alone. So just being there for someone to talk to and just listening could prove so much for someone who is in such a dark place.
Reblogged this on adevangelista1421.
Reblogged this on johnrb3 and commented:
on and on and on
First let me say it was incredible brave of you and must have taken a lot of personal power to write this. I know, and you described in this essay, how crippling depression is and it must have been no easy task to get this out. That aside, this is one of the most accurate things I’ve ever read describing depression, I will be sure to refer this to anyone who does not understand what I’m going through, or needs realization that what their going through is not just them.
As much as I am grateful for this though it scares me. I’ve been battling depression since I started college at the beginning of August 2012 and this February I finally decided to see a counselor and was doing fairly well, I was on my way out of the tub, until today, when I first felt the return of the time consuming sadness. When for the first time in two months I was unable to complete anything. And I’m scared. I’m scared this will be here forever. I don’t want to be doing this for the rest of my life.
I’m not exactly sure why I’m saying all of this. Just thought I’d get it out there. I’m going to go read the short story you refereed though and maybe write some more on my own.
Again, thank you for the piece, I hoped it helped you out a little bit too.
Very brave and honest. Good blog. I don’t suffer depression now, but I have had bouts of crushing waves of the dark stuff. Now I have to say I deal with anxiety. But that can be a driver for my work. I’m going to read your books. I’m so glad I found your work!! I’ll be back.
<3
Libby? May i call u that? anyways i luv ur gemma doyle trilogy i am so attached to it! 😀 u have such great imaginations.I ADORE ur books 🙂 thanx for fullfilling my life.But there is one thing missing in my life.The movie or at least the show
Thank you for expressing this so well! I too struggled with depression for a long time before I found the courage to speak out. I thought people would think I was weak, unstable, etc. I thought I would feel weaker because I admitted it, but then I realized, it just was. I had depression and I could ignore it and live in shame or accept the help of others. When I finally began to deal with the depression enough to talk about it, I produced a video expressing my journey. I’m glad you’re sharing as well!!
Here’s my story and I hope it helps others out there like your story has.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4I8eFH2YRpE
Depression is the heavy coat in my closet, the one I don from time to time. It smells of dust and drags my shoulders down, but it’s a comforting drag, since I’ve worn the coat many times before. Often it takes a long time to remember that I can remove the coat, or ask for help in taking it off.
It helps immensely whenever I encounter someone else who has this coat in their closet as well.
Hugs Libba – thanks for sharing! – Kim
You have the monopoly on useful inmfnoation-arer’t monopolies illegal? 😉
Only stumbled across your blog by accident, and this entry may have saved my life. Sorry to be dramatic, but it is what it is. Thank you for writing what I have been trying to say, and avoiding.
The bottom line question is “What is life all about”? When you are successful in life but you are still unhappy, you ask this question. When you are not as successful as you wanted to be or you thought you were capable of, you still ask this same question. You simply can’t put a finger to what is going wrong within you. This comes from a space of your “shelf life”. You realize time is running out and you have not achieved much. You want to be bigger than yourself.
This is the time when finding your spiritual self is absolutely necessary, because that is the only thing that can dig you out. In my experience, there is a way out. There is a mechanism to take you out of that dark space of depression. It is yoga. Not the physical postures only, since to a lay man yoga are just physical postures (to stay fit or loose weight). Yoga is the alignment of your body, mind and spirit.
Please read up or listen to “Sadhguru Jaggi Vasudev”. Listen to him on Youtube. A certain practice he offers, called “Shambhavi Maha Mudra”, in his Inner Engineering Program. It may open up a certain dimension for you, if you are ready. Please look him up. It has helped me in ways beyond imagination.
Dear Libba, I am reading this over three months later. I fervently hope that since you posted, you have found some relief. Those of us who have suffered from depression are especially grateful for your honesty and your courage to share your story. Especially in the throes of it. Thank you.
Dear Libba…
I’ve been a fan for years – ever since I first stumbled upon “A Great and Terrible Beauty” on one of the front shelves at a local book shop, and I check your website from time to time, occasionally commenting on a post here or there, but usually just browsing through your posts and any info on new books, etc. I’ve always enjoyed reading your blog entries, as even those communications are so pleasantly sassy and well written.
For whatever reason, I just decided to check out your blog again, and this post is a major one. I can see you’ve twittered or tweeted or chirped (or whatever it’s called) since writing this entry for your blog, but I add my wish to those of other commenters who honestly hope that you’ve received comfort, strength, and respite in the meantime. Just by glancing at some of the comments, it is clear that you’ve already had a profound impact on your readers. Thank you for sharing this part of yourself with us and for your bravery and raw honesty in doing so. I was sad to learn of this pain and am thinking of you and wishing you peace.
Someone I met by chance at a hikers’ event told me about this post and recently sent me the actual link. Your writing is beautiful and evocative. Thank you for sharing from your heart and helping others to appreciate better what depression really feels like. If you don’t mind, I would like to share a link to your post on our website (www.hikeformentalhealth.org).
Reblogged this on and commented:
I had no idea she struggled with depression. But I thought I’d just share this, especially because it’s something I’ve struggled with and am still vulnerable to.
Reblogged this on LiterateOwl and commented:
Sadly, ven a sweet soul can be tormented. This is the paradox if mental health. 🙁
Reblogged this on and commented:
Thank you for these honest and thoughtful words.
Thank you SO much for this
I’m really enjoying the design and layout of your site.
It’s a very easy on the eyes which makes it much more pleasant for
me to come here and visit more often. Did you hire out a designer to create your theme?
Superb work!
When someone writes an piece of writing he/she maintains the idea of a user in his/her mind that how a user can be
aware of it. Thus that’s why this paragraph is perfect.
Thanks!
I just want you to know that I am so thankful for the impact . I’m 19 and I’ve been reading your books since I was in 5th grade. Once in a while I check this blog to see whats going on in your literary world, and I’m always surprised to witty, intelligent blog posts abound that give real insight into what its actually like to live as a writer and mother without any frilly bullshit. I’m worried about you Libba, that this, your last entry, was over 6 months ago now. I know what its like to struggle with depression. And I know the isolation that it brings. I hope you are still fighting the good fight and that your lack of blog posts doesn’t mean you’re curing yourself off from life. I cant begin to know your struggle but I know this; not everybody has a spirit so strong that it touches even complete strangers and moves them. I’ve never once met you and yet you’ve made me laugh, cry, throw things, and lifted me out of depression in my own life, if only for as long as it takes to read one of your stories. I think a spirit like that is worth fighting for, if nothing else. Depression does not deserve your time. I hope you found some joy this past Summer and haven’t let these feelings get the best of you. Im behind you all the way!
I think everyone should watch this Ted Talk about depression by writer Andrew Solomon: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-eBUcBfkVCo
I have been there and I never want to go back although a few times I’ve ended up there in spite of my best efforts. When I am there I tell myself “this too, shall pass” even though it is hard to believe as I say it.
Wow. Thank you.
I discovered “The Diviners” by accident, and loved it! In my efforts to find out when the second book will be released, so I can find out “what happens next”, I came upon your blog posting about depression. It was the most beautifully written description that I’ve ever read. I had suffered for years with it, until I finally found a combination of meds that worked for me. I wish you the same good fortune. In the meantime, please know that there are people who understand and care.
I just want to start off by saying that I have loved your books since I first picked up A Great and Terrible Beauty at borders in 2004 when I was 14, I love your writing style amd the way you put your stories together. I know what its like to deal with depression I’ve dealt with it for a long time, I couldn’t ever bring myself to say anything about it, or to ask for help when getting out of bed was the hardest task I could conceive of. And books have always been my escape, my coping mechanism, especially your books. I dont know if you will ever read this but I want to thank you for those books and the breif moments they gave me to be somewhere else, to be someone else. I reread your books whenever it hits me the hardest and life just seems to be too much work to continue on. So thank you so much for giving me a break. And I hope you find something that gives you peace as well.
Reblogged this on serenamaine.
I’ve never written about how I feel about this before. I wrote this earlier today, I read your post and it resonated with me, enough to want to share my experience. Thank you
When it comes I wear the mask, down turned smile face frozen, eyes watery and dead. No life in me, I just want to sleep, sleep and sleep. My bed is my safe place. I don’t know what I feel or how to feel. I’m at the mercy of my thoughts, like a roller coaster fast, crazy up and down, sick feeling in stomach. I feel shame and guilt, why am I like this, I’m a weak person, even though I know deep down not, I can’t be ,my mind plays tricks.
All I have is irrelevant, who am I? What’s wrong with me? I know why, I’ve done the therapy, I know how it works, I know how I am what I am but why? Why me? It’s been well over 20 years, I see it now a life lived in my head. Periods of deep sadness, anxiety and shame. I’ve not wanted to be here, a lot. I’ve had violent thoughts about myself that scare me and scare others, when I try to explain how bad I feel.
I’m on the meds,I’ve kidded myself I don’t need them, missed a few, cut the dose – back on the roller coaster. Resentment, hurt, weakness I need pills to let me live I struggle to accept this.
So here I am again I know it’s been coming but I’ve been trying to move away, do the things that can help, run away from it, but I’m caught, I’m it, the mask is back on, my beds my safe place and I’m like a stranger in my own life. Who am I? What am I? I’m me I’m the blackness, tearful wretch .
I just wanted to say thank you, for writing something I know had to be difficult. I myself suffer from depression, and it has never been easy for me talk about the way I feel to anyone, even my parents. There have been countless times where I fear I may loose myself to depression, and everyday it is a uphill battle. Some days I feel like I don’t stand a chance. But after reading your story, I have been left with a feeling like there is a chance and there is nothing that I can’t conquer. Now, I have always known that there were others like me out there, but before today I have never read such a moving piece that you have written. I have always been a huge fan of your work. I will always remember reading The Gemma Doyle trilogy for the very first time my freshman year in high school; that was also the same year my depression showed its face. Reading about Gemma’s life and all of the challenges she had to face gave me the courage to try to fight my own battles. Sadly, I don’t have the pleasure of saying that I have kicked depression out on the curb, but I will say that whenever I find myself starting to fall into the dark abyss I always know that I can escape and find comfort alongside Gemma Doyle. So thank you, for not only writing this post, but for creating stories so that readers such as myself can escape their world full of sadness and dark, and immerse themselves in one full of adventure, excitement, and most importantly hope.
You are the most wonderful person.
Thank you for this.
Hang in there. I along with many others patiently await the next chapter in the Diviners saga. In fact, that’s exactly why I looked you up, hoping I missed something, and I did – you have a life! You are very talented and creative, but sometimes that comes with a dark side. My thoughts and best wishes are with you.
I have no idea if you will see this comment, but I wanted to say, as the wife of someone who struggles mightily with depression–thank you for writing this. I get that his depression is not about me, or even “about” him, any more than cancer or diabetes is “about” the person who has it. It scares the fuck out of me to know that all the love I have for him cannot guarantee that he won’t ever attempt suicide. When Robin Williams died, my husband said, “What if I keep fighting and fighting and it just never gets better?” I am so sad that he, and so many others, have that much pain. He is in therapy and on medication, and it’s still an on-going struggle. Your description of the ebb and flow of depression is so recognizable.
Nice work on putting together a very interesting post. Fabulous ideas and very helpful information. Well thought out and well written.
thank you for writing this
Reblogged this on Fayrouz's Journalism Blog.
Reblogged this on Invisible Circus and commented:
this
THANK YOU…is really all I can say. I really really thank you for saying all this and putting into coherent words.
Reblogged this on beingremade95.
Hi 🙂
We’d love to feature this on Kindness Blog. Would that be okay? No problems if not.
Best regards, Mike.
Thank you for writing this article and sharing your thoughts. I too have had my ups and downs over many years. It took me about 20 years to realize that my own worst enemy was myself. Depression affects many of us in many different ways and it is typically the result of much deeper emotions we hold within ourselves that we have stored away for safe keeping so we don’t have to think about it. The problem is that – it sits there deep within our souls. We think we have eliminated it, but we have not. There is a solution to this – it’s called ZPoint. The founder and creator for this process is Grant Connolly. And this process really works at not only addressing the negative emotions but releasing them as well. So if you have an additiction, dealing with depression, relationship problems or any other negative emotions, give this a try. I personally use this process on a regular basis and it has helped me so much. I’m not saying this will be the ‘end all solution’ to your depression. But I am saying it will help! I am posting the website here in hopes that it finds you well and helps you with the emotions you are dealing with: http://www.acceptingself.com
Reblogged this on phirni.
Would just like to say I read this years ago struggling with post-suicide confusion and it brought me some peace. Now I happened upon the link again and it’s still relevant, and helpful and beautiful. Thank you, now and then.