Writer's caution: This article contains some somewhat graphic scenes from my life, and there is a discussion of suicide, self-harm, and a few other things. So, just in case those subjects are sensitive to you, I'm just letting you know before you start reading.
On "The Office," Dwight once said "Depression; isn't that just a fancy word for being unhappy?" To which Michael had the perfect response, "Dwight you ignorant slut!" I really wish I could say that the attitude that Dwight has about depression is uncommon, but sadly it's starting to become more and more prevalent and pervasive with the 24-hour news coverage of the suicides of celebrities. Much of this has caused people to start romanticizing not only depression as a concept but romanticizing what it means to have depression.
Hi. My name is Tom. I am a 22-year-old student of Music at West Chester University. I am a conservative Democrat. I work on a farm, and also in our school's scenery shop. I have tried to kill myself 7 times. I am an Eagle Scout and have spent the past 7 years of my life as a counselor/Quartermaster at Rodney Scout Reservation.
"Wait," I can hear many people thinking, "did he say 7 times? What gives?" Well, first a little backstory. In 2006 I was diagnosed with Adolescent Antisocial Personality Disorder. Now, it's simply Antisocial Personality Disorder (which, for reasons of brevity, I will henceforth be referring to as ASPD.) Some people know this illness by this name, but most people know it as one of its more commonly used, if very outdated, synonyms: Sociopathy or Psychopathy. Did images of serial killers pop into your head? If so, you're one of approximately the 85% of people I meet who think of that when they learn this about me. ASPD can vary from person to person. In my case, I literally cannot feel love or empathy. However, I can be very manipulative if I want to be.
How does this have anything to do with depression? Well, I also suffer from what is commonly referred to as "clinical depression" as opposed to "Seasonal Depression" or "Seasonal Affective Disorder." And this is where things get interesting. I don't feel love or empathy. The depression tells me that no one actually loves or even gives a damn that I exist. So, whenever anyone shows me basic kindness my instinct reaction is, quite literally, "they don't care about me, so they must be trying to use me for something." I promise that I'll get to what any of this has to do with the article mentioned in the title, but you need this background information to understand my viewpoint.
As humans, we tend to generalize things, put people into groups. It's one of our physiological functions that we adapted to keep us alive from predators and the like. But when we hear that someone has depression, we tend to put them into a group based on our preconceived notion of what depression is. It's different for everyone. And that's my issue not only with this article but of how we look at mental illness as a whole.
This article uses very flowing language, very beautiful and powerful imagery to express the darkness that can enshroud someone who has let depression rule their lives. It is a plea for people to start listening to someone with depression, someone who is reaching out a hand as they struggle for air, as they reach for desperately needed support. The thing is, though, this often isn't the case at all.
In the past couple of years I've learned ways to cope with my depression, with the desire to, some nights, quite literally put a bullet in my head. And I've started to go to various hospitals in the area when there's someone there who they've managed to save from their suicide attempt. And here's the plain and dirty truth; most people simply don't exhibit outward signs of depression. Sure they might be tired, they might be sad, they might be withdrawn. But those are also outward signs of fatigue from the workday, from an incredibly hard exam at school. Right now, there are approximately 4 of my very close acquaintances who know about all of the things going on in my life. No one else has even suspected a thing, some have even said, "Oh, how do you know what these depressed people go through?" I don't exhibit any outward signs, so they don't know. And yet on the nights that they rushed me to the hospital to try and stitch my sliced arteries together, or try to rid my system of the 7 Percocets that I washed down with a tall glass of whiskey, I can assure you that my depression was back and in full force.
On nights where I have wanted to try but haven't, what was it like? Were there dark branches scratching at my arms, trying to pull me away from life? Was there a safety blanket of darkness hovering about my shoulders? No. Do you want to know what it was? Me, sitting there with a knife going, "Who will miss me?" There's no poetry in that, no beautiful imagery for the mind to interpret. And yet...
Here we come (finally) to my point. I actually enjoyed the article. I really appreciated the point that the author was trying to make. Everything was well written and incredibly educated. I really thought that the imagery was used well, and the whole point of the article was stated very concisely near the end. But my problem wasn't necessarily with the article itself, but with how most people will react to it or how it will inform their judgments. Many people will read that article and think "Oh well, this must be what depression is like." While they can be correct, it can often lead to the (incorrect) conclusion of "Well, if these aren't being displayed, then there's no depression." Why do I have or have had many stable jobs, have been getting through school, been able to follow many of my passions? Because people don't know.
The next question that people have is obvious "Well then, how can we be expected to know if someone has depression if they don't outwardly display any of the symptoms? It's not like we can see inside their brains." No, you can't, and even with our fMRI and CT scan powers in hospitals, it's difficult at best to tell. So, here's what you can do. Get to know the person. If they need you for something, try your hardest to be there. Don't flake out on them. Be a decent fucking human being. Because if they don't have depression, then you're being a good friend to them and they will appreciate it. And if they do, then you may have saved their lives.
As Forrest Gump has said many a time, "That's all I have to say about that."
