Depression Squared: Stretching Out A Hand

Depression is a lonely space to be. It is like shivering alone in a cupboard that you simultaneously long to break out of, but also to hold its doors tight shut. It is not a place into which to invite others.

I’m supremely touched by messages from readers of this blog who have said how sorry they are that they didn’t know what I have been going through, who have apologised they weren’t there for me. But I mean it when I say it’s not you, or them. It was me, wanting and needing to be alone in a very private hell. I built up a thick wall around myself excluding all connections. If you had tried to reach out your hands in friendship, I would probably have bitten them off.

Because there is no space for friendship in the world of Depression. It is more likely than not that you will not know what a friend or relative is going through until long after the disease that is Clinical Depression has run its course. No one will call you to say “I’ve just been diagnosed”. The challenges won’t be shared over a coffee or something stronger. There will be no late-night knock on your door. Even if you are the best of friends.

That’s not because you have failed. But the nature of the illness means that as it takes its course there is a rapid spiralling away from life and its connections. It is not possible to take hold of a helping hand even if it is offered repeatedly. Depression cuts off connections. Words to express anything are lost. The fear of contamination keeps sufferers away from any sort of meaningful dialogue.

In the course of my treatment I have met many people suffering from Depression. Each is an individual, but in general, we share the ability to be excellent dissemblers. Often we seem perfectly fine on the surface. One moment, even many moments, laughing infectiously and chatting casually over cigarettes, or across a board game. The next moment those same people may be close to unrecognisable lying on the ground screaming in pain or pounding the walls for dear life. Others deny how they feel even to themselves and simply bury themselves in silence. And still others will blithely narrate the astonishing total of tablets they swallowed as they tried to take their life but seem otherwise to be perfectly fine.

There is an element of “of course” in answer to the “I didn’t know”. We each know only as much about each other as we let others know. And we — the Depressed — can especially play many characters.

Part of the problem is we simply don’t have the words or lines to use. We can’t answer a “how are you doing?” with anything approaching the darkened reality of Depression.

Even in hospital with a level of common experience, the individuality and constraints of illness mean making friends is not straightforward. And it is hard to share in someone else’s pain even if they want to divulge it. It is easier by far to suffer in silence and alone.

It seems a kindness to limit the number of people you risk dragging in and down. Having depression takes all that energy that normally extends to friendships or relationships of any kind. And it diverts that as it turns body and soul in on themselves.

So there is really no surprise in you not knowing, nor cause for guilt. Even in this age of social media it is an illusion to believe that we can, must, do share everything. And it is only now that I feel able even to share this much with you. Feel free to follow the journey here on Medium.