For a depressed person, a
day isn't just a day. A day is
24 more hours of
horrible suffering. Another day where you let everyone down, and feel even
worse.
I see it as not just a mindset, not something you can "snap out of" (but
those close to you may think you can, and subtly show how annoyed they are
that you can't just fix it yourself). I think part of it, at least, truly
is a disease of the mind.
In depression, things that should make you feel good, just don't. It's
like eating food and not being able to taste it. (I've had sinus infections
where I lost the sense of taste for weeks at a time). Anything that makes
you feel bad is just magnified. Any mistake you make, anything you do
wrong, lingers and echoes and reverberates in your mind.
It's like being in a pit that you cannot climb out of. And the worst part
is this: no one understands. No one can, because (unless they are depressed
themselves), they are functioning normally - they can take things in
stride. A setback isn't a big deal to them, because they are resilient.
They can't see what it's like to be depressed, when there's no such thing
as resilience. And many times they can be unknowingly hurtful by belittling
the depressed person's feelings, which only makes them feel more isolated,
more like something's wrong with them, more like they are failing.
Depressed people can offer each other a great amount of solace, though,
because they see the world in a similar way, and they understand each
others' pain. This is one of the few comforts for a depressed person.
I know how it seems to make no sense for someone to take their own life,
but for them, it can often be the option that offers the least amount of
suffering, and sometimes they just can't take it anymore. For me, I knew I
couldn't really do it because I knew I didn't *deserve* to have a release
from my suffering. Terribly pathetic, but that's how it was. And I knew I
couldn't justify hurting my family like that just so *I* could end my pain.
I will never forget what it was like to be depressed. Part of me will
always be in that pit, in a way. When I hear that someone committed
suicide, my first thought is compassion, to think of how much they must
have suffered to want to die just to make it stop. And I think that in some
small way I am glad that they aren't hurting anymore. (No, that doesn't
make it right, at all). And of course I recognize the terrible waste and
feel badly for the ones left behind.
Beth