So, when you have cancer or any other kind of serious illness, you kind of get a pass for focusing on yourself, and setting everything else aside but your health, your family, and your situation until you get well. No one expects you to keep up with fashion trends, Hollywood news, or politics. They understand that you are just doing your best to breathe.
Some illnesses aren’t so obvious. There are some illnesses that we have been conditioned to believe we can manage on our own, or that we should be able to get passed, simply with positive thinking. Some illnesses carry a stigma that makes the load you’re carrying so heavy, you simply can’t see beyond your symptoms. Even so, when you have some illnesses, almost everyone around you expects you to be able to interact as if everything is normal. They expect you to wear a smile throughout your day, no matter how sick you feel inside. They are frustrated when you seem oblivious to what is happening around you, and sometimes, they find it so hard to understand that you are sick, that you feel yourself being pushed to the edge of everything. It’s kind of like being in a litter of puppies and being the runt—everyone understands you aren’t going to survive, and even mom doesn’t see the point of nursing you.
Those kinds of illnesses don’t discriminate, and you often find yourself living in a constant state of blindness—your world is so dark, you can’t see anything beyond yourself. The trouble with that is your blindness is often mistaken for self-centeredness, and people believe that you are an asshole and a lost cause.
Depression and anxiety are insidious. They may begin with a specific event, or they may be a lifelong undercurrent waiting, to take you down when life throws you even a subtle curve.
I know this well. I have suffered from both at different times, and for different reasons.
At one point in time, I was given a diagnosis of dysthymia—basically a low level, functional type of depression. It allows you to do most everything you need to do. You do okay at work—maybe even better than okay. You take care of your responsibilities. You don’t land in a padded room, or become a serial killer. Your outward functionality allows everyone around you to believe you’re just fine.
But just as I have faced this kind of depression, I have also faced the kind of depression that swallows you whole, and barely allows you to get out of bed everyday. The kind of depression that makes you look around, wondering if anyone would miss you if you just stopped existing—almost savoring the idea that they wouldn’t.
While everyone around you just decides you’re an asshole, and that you don’t care, you actually do care, but can’t find a way out.
I never fully understood this aspect of anxiety and depression until I saw the cycle play itself out in someone else. It’s incredibly hard to watch people you care about living in total darkness. If you’ve been there, at least you know that the person isn’t in the dark by choice, and you know you they can’t get out alone.
When you are in that dark space, you have no idea how to get out, and you might even be in denial about being there. If you’re lucky, someone tells you, and hounds you until you get help. Maybe they give you an ultimatum you can’t ignore. Maybe the help you get pulls you out. Or maybe it’s like being in a boat on the River Styx, and there is no way out until you come to some kind of end. If you’re lucky, that end is just the conclusion of whatever catalyst got you there. But getting out is only the first step toward getting well. It may take a while for your brain to work again, for your eyes to see, and for you to stop finding yourself at the door to the darkness—almost as if you want to knock and get back in.
Anxiety and depression are worse than prison. They’re more like a POW camp, or a concentration camp. You don’t expect parole. Depending on how deep in the hole you are, you don’t taste your food, smell something burning, or hear yourself screaming. You eat because you’re supposed to. You go to work because you’re expected to. You don’t really sleep, you just lay still while terrible scenarios play out in your mind—unless you medicate,and that offers its own set of problems.
With all of this heaviness weighing on you, you think getting out will be like watching a hallelujah choir, and that you will be able to breathe fresh air again. It’s confusing, unsettling, and frustrating when nothing close to that happens.
The picture is bleak, dark, and heavy, but the reality is you can’t find the light until you fight your way out of the dark, and realize that you may have to fight that battle every day for a while. And you might feel a punch in the gut every moment when you realize that you couldn’t see for such a long time. It’s a horrible cliche, but there are only a couple of ways out. One is simply stopping. The other is stumbling around in the darkness until you get through.
Sometimes, you’re lucky, and the people who really know who you are, and really love you will wait. They will forgive you for seeming not to notice their struggles, and how hard they have to work without you. Sometimes, they will desperately try to pull you out. And even if every attempt they make fails, they will love you anyway.
