You Are Not The Darkness. Depression Is.

An old friend reached out, clearly in the grips of depression. I know how hard it is to climb out of darkness, and I'm grateful they've let me know their pain. Here's how I responded in writing.

Photo by Yuri Figueiredo on Unsplash

Earlier today, an old friend reached out via email and described how deeply they’re hurting. It was the kind of email that made me push everything aside and focus on only the words before me.

Their sentences conveyed many hallmarks of depression, including regret, self-doubt, moments of hopelessness, futility, and even thoughts of suicide.

I won’t share their email, but I will share my response, and I do this for three reasons:

1. Most importantly: My response only came after my friend took a brave and vulnerable step to reach out. Thus, whether you’re struggling or know someone else who’s hurting, please recognize the vast potential for human connection that results when someone finds the courage to share personal hardship.

2. If you’re personally struggling with a mental health issue, I hope you’ll read my response and remind yourself that you are worthy of love from others — AND from yourself.

3. If you know someone who’s struggling, it can be hard to know what to say. Is this too much? Not enough? Inappropriate? By sharing my response, I hope to illustrate how it’s enough in the moment to express your compassion, and that validation is the priority. We don’t have to solve. We don’t have to fix. We can witness and remind someone they are not alone.

When a crisis hits, we don’t always have the luxury of thinking things through or feeling confident in our reactions. My hope is that, by showing how I replied to someone in crisis through my writing, you might find some helpful passages and apply them however they might suit your circumstances.

I’ve [very slightly] edited my response to honor privacy. And, if I’d thought to put a subject heading in my email response, it would have been:

You Are Not The Darkness. Depression Is.

Dear You,

First of all, I love you. I mean this with my whole, entire, five-foot-tall being. 
And, I'm here to remind you that you're not a burden. You never will be. 

I'm so glad you reached out to me. SO glad. 

Though we never really got to *know* each other in the past, I have come to see what a deep and meaningful connection I missed, and I'm determined to turn that regret into positive action. So, I want you to know that I love you, and not in some weird, awkward, middle-aged, "What does that mean?" way, but more of: "I love you. Period."

Yes, I've been where you are. 

Yes, I've known that that pain, that desperation, that futility, that hopelessness, that overwhelm, that vulnerability — and everything else that accompanies those feelings. 

Yes, I've been to the darkest places of the soul and believed in every cell of my being that I'd never see light. 

I have so much I want to say that encourages and soothes and eases your pain, but that will come later.

Right now, I just want to validate every single thing you're feeling and honor the courage it took to reach out and share your pain. I see it in every sentence you typed. And I'm so sorry it's happening to you right now. 

I have to tell you that I am NOT the least bit disappointed in you. You owe me nothing. I expect nothing. And, you're not letting me down, so please throw out that negative self-talk. I am an adult and capable of handling my adult life. And, you're not responsible for saving the world -- though I know from experience that depression tricks us into believing that we are. 

I abhor when people tell me to "take a deep breath", as it's often delivered in a condescending or judgemental way. With that caveat, I'm nevertheless urging you to take the biggest, deepest, most compassionate breath for YOURSELF right now. You're in so much pain and you deserve all the rest and self-love there is. 

Spoiler alert: When I hit rock bottom, self-love is what I'd lost. Depression convinced me I was a disappointment to the world, that I'd let everyone down, that there was little point to keep going, and that hope would elude me for the rest of my life.

But depression lies to us. 

I'm not saying this is what's happening to you (because I don't know your whole story), but for me, when I lost my ability to fully and completely love myself (and all my shortcomings, mistakes, regrets, and ugliness), there was NO WAY IN HELL I could believe that anyone else could fully love me. As a consequence, I went around looking for evidence to support my theory that I was [unlovable; leavable; inconsequential; a failure; and so on...]. 

The hardest thing I've EVER done (and am still working on EVERY GODDAMNED DAY) is to love myself. What I've learned is that it's a daily practice to maintain and that I'm CONSTANTLY tested. What I've also learned is that every day that I focus on self-love is a day I grow stronger and more resilient.

It's been 5 years since I sought treatment for anxiety and depression due to many factors (failed marriage, illness, unaddressed childhood trauma). I'm STILL learning how to apply the skills I was taught. I don't think I'll ever stop. 

If you're anything like me, you're a deeply feeling, porous human being. There are so many gifts that come from that type of personality...and so many challenges. For me, I think it's incredibly hard NOT to feel things deeply and viscerally -- sometimes so much more than others I know. It's sometimes such an asset (like when I'm writing). but it can be a horrible, draining cross to bear when I'm feeling down. I sometimes wish I could turn off the intensity of my feelings, but alas, I cannot. And that's where self-love gives me perspective to understand myself. 

If I can offer anything to you at this moment, it is ONE thing: 

Know that I love you. 

I cannot fathom this world without you. 
I cannot begin to imagine the heartbreak I'd feel if depression took hold of you so hard that it convinced you it was not worth breathing anymore. 
I cannot describe how much this world would suck without having your light in it.

You might not be able to see your light right now. I get it. I've been there.

And still, I am able to see your light.

It glistens in your desire to do good in this world.
It glistens in your intention to make life a better experience for others.
And it glistens just like the tears on your face right now that betray the sadness you feel over difficult times and changes in a life’s expected course. 

I can't begin to imagine everything going through your head, but please rest assured you are not alone, nor will you ever be. You're not a burden. You're deeply loved. I am here if you need to talk anytime.

Most of all, you are wise and able to tap into self-love. If you weren't, you wouldn't have reached out for support, and believe me, that shit takes courage and a deep, even unconscious awareness that your life means far more than what depression tries to convince you you're worth. 

You mean the world to me. 

Hang in there, my friend. 

Love,

Chrissy

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

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What message do you have for someone who’s feeling pulled under by the weight of depression?