Depression is a burden, but you don’t carry it alone

(The following column contains discussions of mental health and depression. If you are feeling suicidal or need to talk to someone about your mental health, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1–800–273–8255.)

I once googled how to get out of depression. You might have, too.

If you have, you know the first thing that comes up is a link to the suicide prevention hotline (yes, the one above). I understand the very good reasons for this, but for a depressed person looking to get undepressed it’s not exactly the answer you’re looking for.

And while depression can and does occasionally lead to self harm, it’s a myth that people with depression are constantly looking for ways to end their lives. We want to be happy, it’s just that we don’t quite know how.

Unfortunately, not many of the links beneath the “don’t kill yourself today” message aren’t too helpful, either. If you’ve been depressed long enough, you’ve probably heard them all:

Exercise. Set goals. Listen to music. Talk to someone. Throw yourself into a project. Bake. Focus on today. Focus on the positive. Focus on focusing. Focus on Foucault.

None of it works.

For me the thing about depression was that nothing helped. When you’re in that state of mind, it’s like your brain is constantly wrapped in fog and your chest is always three pounds too heavy. It’s a yoke, an invisible tire that you pull around with you everywhere you go. Even when you’re smiling it’s there, slowing you down and constantly reminding you there’s an easier, better reality that’s just out of reach because you just can’t seem to shake loose of this constant burden.

That nobody can see the burden is there is probably the biggest challenge at all. When someone has a broken leg, we sign their cast or offer to open the door in recognition of their injury. But when someone is suffering from a mental illness, there’s no expectation of empathy. In fact, if we show any outward signs of our struggle it’s likely to be met with either derision, unsolicited advice or pity.

There’s a persistent myth that people who are depressed enjoy wallowing in their own suffering or that we seek pity from others. Nothing could be further from the truth. The thing a depressed person wants more than anything in the world is to feel happy and loved and fulfilled — to feel “normal” — but we simply can’t figure out how to do it.

Nobody wants to feel pitied, we want to feel understood. When I’ve suffered from depression the thing I wanted most was for people to know I was hurting and that much of my behavior was in part the fault of this clouded thinking. But to admit as much is an incredibly difficult thing to do for people who are depressed, because we recognize that everyone has struggles and we feel shame at the idea we might elevate our struggles above those of others.

So we suffer in silence and as we do so our relationships stagnate and our lives become a relentless state of drudgery as we try desperately to figure out and fix what’s wrong with us on our own.

We google how to get better and it tells us to exercise and we laugh because we’ve tried that and we know it does make us feel better but we also know it’s not a long term fix.

I don’t have the answers. I know therapy helps. So do diet and exercise. There’s no doubt a healthy lifestyle can curb those foggy feelings. Turning off social media helps.

But there’s no magic trick, and for me learning to deal with depression has been a lifelong process of recognition, introspection and understanding. It’s a long road with a lot of bumps — and you definitely don’t want to try any of the shortcuts.

Depression isn’t something to be ashamed of or even necessarily something we need to eliminate from our lives. I still feel the fog creep in from time to time and I still struggle with the weight of trying to move forward while towing that invisible tire; it’s part of my life, one I recognize and manage just as I do hunger or sleepiness or thirst.

There’s one thing that helps every time though — understanding, the recognition that I’m not alone. Over the years, I’ve stumbled across countless stories from people who have struggled with mental illness and reading about their journeys has often given me comfort. It’s helpful to know other people have spent time in that dark, lonely place and have come out the other side to find they’re going to be okay.

That’s why I decided to write this today. I know there are people who right now are deep inside that heavy, seemingly inescapable prison of depression and who believe there’s no way out and that things will never get any better.

But they will. You have to believe that. I can’t promise you’ll never feel pain, I can’t promise the world will magically get better or that your problems will go away or that the hurt you feel will disappear. But I can tell you I’ve been there too, and I can tell you there’s a legion of us out here and we understand your pain and we are carrying that weight with you.

You are not alone.

Matt Tunseth is a freelance writer from Anchorage, Alaska. Write to him at matthew.tunseth@gmail.com