Some things, I guess you can only really understand if you’ve gone through depression. Looking back attitudes and behaviours of many other people make a bit more sense to me. I regret not knowing how to support friends and family who when they look at you… look as though they are carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders.
It’s easier to look away when you see it. To take a step back. Not get too involved. After all it isn’t your responsibility, no?
But as I get older I am learning to pick up new lenses. Things that were simple are now fraught with complications. Contradictions in my understanding of what is valuable now cloud my judgement and an irrational tendency to trust my “heart” guides my actions – introducing to me a world full of what I guess some would call “distractions”.
Sometimes it just feels like my life is like a beautiful sheet of stained glass. Complex, colourful and a certain kind of melancholy.
Sometimes it just feels like this sheet of glass is shattered into pieces by the relentless pounding of the waves of reality upon me.
And there you are. Left to gather your pieces. Left with the opportunity to reconstruct a new image. Something no more or less beautiful. Something different. Something that may one day too be shattered.
Dramatic no? Well yes I know…
But hear me out.
Depression, my friend, is not something it seems we readily discuss. Even if we both feel it. Even if either of us sees it in the eyes of the other… We prefer to look away and switch topics and switch focus from one to another.
Depression seems to me to be a word we save for something serious. A word that rings of a special kind of trauma. A word that we avoid at all costs to include in our own prognosis.
Depression comes in many forms. Many strains. It does not discriminate. It does not care much for your manliness or your independence. Nor is it considerate of your reputation let alone your station.
It doesn’t care about your money.. or about the smiles you paint on your face for your audience.. as you share with your words your milk and your honey.
Depression simply doesn’t care. When it’s there.
I think back. To some moments long ago. And some just yesterday, when lifting my head up from my pillow took more emotional energy than I ever knew I even had.
I think back. To some moments long ago. And some just yesterday, when arriving in my parking spot at home and turning off the car was enough to release a flood building through my chest, leaving through my face.
Yes, I cry.
And I do so without shame. As a “man” I am encourage to contain things that simply will never fit in.. anything that I could ever think to put them in.
Just let it out.
Broken. Into pieces.
Battered. Bruised. Confused.
Just let it out.