I don’t talk about my depression much, except to some few trusted people. I fear people will misunderstand, and I’m not sure they can understand how deep and dark my depression has been. Maybe they can’t, and that’s a good thing. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I’ve been on this earth for 42 years and I’ve spent 15-20 of those years clinically depressed. When I was 15 I was diagnosed with bi-polar depression and hospitalized for 3 months. Something that I’ve only told a few people, it was actually my choice to be hospitalized. I did it because the only way I could see to feel better was to kill myself and I wasn’t ready to die. See, I’ve always been in love with life, I just couldn’t see how to live.
In the hospital, I was medicated and went through individual and group therapy. It helped. It started me on a path, but it was still a long journey. I was still depressed, but I think I hid it better. Or perhaps I just had a couple more tools to make life seem easier. I clung to my friends. I drank a lot and did a lot of drugs. In retrospect, I hid from my depression and ran towards what seemed like the quick easy fix of sex, drugs and alcohol.
But nothing ever really helped. I was still suicidal. I thought about killing myself. I thought about killing myself at least once a week, usually more often, until I reached my early 30’s. I never told anyone. I knew that under certain circumstances that you could be, at least temporarily, committed to a psych ward against your will if it was determined that you were suicidal enough. I had decided that if I were to kill myself, that it would be on my terms. No one was going to take away my choice to end my own life. So I kept quiet. I didn’t tell my friends, the people I dated, the woman I eventually married, nor any of the therapists that I saw over the years. It was mine alone to deal with.
And I did deal with it. I quit drugs and drinking, which in retrospect probably made it worse for a while. When it did get better it was because of a shit ton of intensive self work. I became more real to myself, I began to accept myself for who I was. I think that was a big part of my depression, I didn’t like who I was very much and always thought I “should” be different, more, better. I’ll admit, it didn’t help that I married someone who reinforced those beliefs on a daily basis.
So after a ton of self work, I dove more deeply into meditation and yoga. I began to feel even better about myself, I learned more on how to truly accept yourself for who you are, and I began to love myself.
Don’t get me wrong, the depression is still there, but it’s much better. I’ve learned how to manage it, I notice what triggers it and, more importantly, I know how to get out of it. I no longer run from my depression. Sometimes people ask how I’m doing and I’ll tell them I’m feeling a little blue. Inevitable they ask, “Why?” When I tell them there’s no real reason, they don’t seem to believe it, but it’s true. It’s also true I know it will pass, it’s just an emotion. Some days it will just pass, and some days it means it’s time to care for myself. Maybe see some friends, maybe see no one for a while. It could mean I need to get outside and play, or head inside for a yoga class. What it amounts to is that I need to do things that are good for my soul, that’s what ultimately brings me out of my depression. And that’s great, because that’s what life is really about.
