The below was first posted on my personal FB page on April 5, 2022.
Well, this is a little embarrassing, especially considering how my last post about depression ended on a triumphant note that hummed of how I hadn’t struggled with depression in a while. And it’s true that I still don’t struggle with the same type of depression I did a few years ago, the kind that saturates colors and makes suicide a very real calling. But, well, I have been a bit depressed lately, and since writing helps, I suppose this is my way of trying to deal with it and also to let friends know so that if I don’t smile and respond to them in a way that is more becoming of a friend, they will still understand.
The dumb thing is that I didn’t even realize I was depressed for a while. And when I say, ‘by a while,’ I think up to a year or even more. It feels so stupid. Not realizing that I'm depressed. How can I, myself, not realize what is going on with me, myself? But I think that is partially the reason that I hadn’t even noticed that my old friend depression had linked arms with me again. It’s kind of like having something on your face. It’s apparent to everyone else because they are not you, but you can’t see the bright green mystery on yourself precisely because you are yourself. Thus, the importance of perspective.
I met up with a friend a few months ago and told her how I was feeling over boba. When I was done sharing, she stared at me then suppressed a few spurts of laughter and, with one hand shielding the side of her mouth so that others couldn’t hear, she asked me, “Are you … are you depressed?” I promptly replied with a smile, “No! I don’t think so!” Because I really didn’t, but the idea was intriguing.
“Well,” she said. “You know … I’m listening for key words here, and I’m hearing ‘hopeless,’ ‘tired all the time,’ ‘empty,’ ‘hollow,’ ‘nothing to live for,’ ‘life is just one long road, and I can’t keep walking anymore’ … and that kind of … sounds like you’re depressed.”
I thought about it for a second then burst out laughing. Because as she had said it, it had struck me how stupid I had sounded telling her all these obviously depressed key words and then pretty much summed it up by telling myself and her, “But, yeah, I’m fine! I’m feeling great! Depressed? What?”
How could I have missed it? And the answer is that is was my own depression. And I was reminded once again how very blessed I was to have a friend who could point out the plain things about myself that I, myself, can’t see. You really do need other people in life. It’s just the way it works.
But I also gained a deeper understanding of how depression (and other illnesses) come in such a wide assortment of colors and how my own depression can come in this wide assortment despite me being only one person. And the colors can change with different seasons of life. When I was single, alone, and fresh out of too many years of trauma, my depression nearly killed me, and I still consider it a miracle and blessing from God that I didn’t take my own life during that season of life. My depression was the blackest of blacks. The kind of black you find in a cave. The kind that blinds and chills and kills slowly.
Right now, though, my depression isn’t that color, and maybe that’s another reason I had failed to recognize it for what it was. Compared to the kind of depression I had before, this is absolutely nothing. A walk in the park. A black but moist and totally edible (maybe even tasty) piece of cake. But depression it is. A thick morning fog kind of depression. I can still see where I’m going to a certain extent, and compared to the cave, everything seems downright clear and sunny! It’s not scary. It’s cold, but not in a way that grips you. A chill shivering across my skin is nothing compared to the tomb-like cold of before. And it’s possible to be happy in the fog. It’s morning. There’s no danger. Inconvenient, sure, but totally workable. There are even signs of sunny skies coming in the near future. Quite a few rays penetrate the fog at times already.
But the fact remains that the fog is still there, and I am in the midst of it. I’m out of that cave now, thank God, and it sucks that I can’t simply walk out into a sunny day and start my life after everything that cave put me through, but I trust that God has a plan. After all, if I were to walk out into full sunlight after so long in the dark, I might have been blinded permanently. Too much of a good thing can kill too, and as a human being, I do need time to process and adjust. It would be abnormal (if not downright scary) if I walked out of such terrible times and sprinted off into a glorious horizon without so much as a limp. So, I choose to view this season of my life as a transition and not an eternal fog.
It’s difficult to admit that I am still walking through the fog, though. It hurts my pride for one thing. I want to be a strong woman that will inspire statues in town squares, someone who conquered depression once and for all like a white feminist knight who slayed the dragon that is the patriarchy! To say that I am not that person and simply me, that I can know more struggles after getting through a major one, is humbling. It is also draining. How many more trials must I walk through? When does this road ever end? First the cave and now this? I fought long and hard in that cave! I gave it everything I had! I don’t have the energy for this. I don’t have the spirit for this. I don’t have the heart for this. How much further does the fog go? Does that sun and that meadow really lie beyond it? Or am I walking into a marsh full of sulphur and ghosts next? There are many days I simply want to sit down and never move again. I feel so done.
But then I remember that, well, the fog is better than the cave. It may not be that sunny meadow, but it sure is better than the cave. “Do you want this or the cave, Ann?” I ask myself. And Ann jerks forward and replies, “This! Yes, this is much better. I like this.” And there are friends here in this fog. Family too. Even a husband, a house, and a white Jindo dog who drives me up the wall half the time then rolls over onto his back and wins me over all over again with his dewey-eyed requests for belly pets.
I’m not out in the sun yet, and there are still so many days that are cold and endless, but with the loved ones I have alongside me in the fog and with the cave behind me, I can’t deny that life is getting better.