If I Could Get Coffee With My Depression


If I sat down to coffee with my depression, then it would probably take several tries. My depression would find many excuses not to go. When I finally got my depression to the coffee shop, it would order a medium black coffee and apologize for taking the barista’s time.

I would want a table by the window. I know my depression would want the tall, booth tucked in the corner. So I would pick that instead. My depression would not touch its coffee. It would let it sit and get cold, while it scratched at a paint fleck on the table with its fingernail and stared off into space.

What would I say to my depression? What does it need to know? I would tell my depression to stop slouching, stop brooding. I would tell it to stop trying to ruin my days, my moments, my weeks and even months. I would tell my depression it is stupid, worthless and a nuisance. I would scream, swear and call my depression every single name I could.

I would slam my fists on the table, spilling coffee as they made contact and I would rise out of my seat as my voice carried through the shop. At the peak of my rage and pain, I would look up into the eyes of my depression and I would deflate. I would stop yelling. In a flash, I would realize those rage-filled words I would throw at my depression are feelings that have seeped into me because of my depression. I know how those feel.

Instead, if I could have coffee with my depression, I hope I would greet it like a friend. I hope I could find a space to love or at least appreciate how it over apologized for the coffee, how it does not want to be around people, how it really just wants to wrap itself in silence. I hope I could reach across the table and place my hand on top of my depression’s. I hope I could share a glimpse with the eyes of my depression and tell it that it is not weak. It is not worthless. I wouldn’t ask my depression what’s wrong or why it is sad. Instead, I’d just look to it and say it is welcome, for a moment, to sit.

If I had coffee with my depression, then it would be a loving moment, mostly silent, exactly what my depression needed it to be. Not because my depression owns me, but because I have accepted it. I am not pressuring myself to be the warrior, the person brandishing a sword to valiantly fight off my depression.

Instead, I whisper to myself, just get up, take it to coffee and see it, see you for what it is. I guess I take my depression to get coffee most days. While on occasion, I sit in the secluded booth, I never get my coffee black.


Find this story helpful? Share it with someone you care about.


Related to Depression

Woman running with sunrise behind her

To the Depression That Won’t Let Me Break Free

Hey depression, I don’t like you. In fact, I hate you. I hate the way you make me feel trapped and hopeless. Acknowledging you in my life, giving you a name, it turned out to be a blessing and a curse. It was comforting to realize there was a reason for all of the ways [...]
A pair of female feet on a bathroom scale

9 Things I Wish People Understood About Weight and Mental Illness

Television, magazines, and ads are riddled with weight loss methods to help men and women achieve their “ideal” body image. For someone without mental illness, losing weight can be difficult, but when you add in depression and anxiety, it may make the journey more difficult. I can’t exercise and eat better and have the pounds come [...]
a happy couple, the man kissing the woman's head

Dear Future Husband, Here’s What You Should Know About My Life With Mental Illness

Dear Future Husband, Whoever you are, whoever you will be, there are some things you should know about me. I’m not the person I seem to be on the outside. I have different faces, different personalities, different voices. There’s not just me. I have to deal with so much more than “just me.” My life [...]
man talks to therapist in counseling session

4 Reasons to Add Counseling to Your Arsenal of Weapons to Fight Depression

For a long time, I was against seeking any outside help for postpartum depression (PPD) and later for my anxiety and clinical depression. I was ashamed and embarrassed about being depressed. I was also foolishly independent and just plain stubborn. I thought I should be able to dig myself out of my dark hole. Except for [...]