Depression is lying with my face covered by the quilt, not moving.
Listening to the phone ring and ring and then hearing the voice of a dear friend on the answering machine and not picking up.
Hearing in that voice the strength and care I know I need and not being able to move.
It is thinking the rent is probably due sometime soon and not really caring.
Thinking the rest of the world is able to go on just fine without my input.
It is going to work daily and putting on a pretend face and returning home to crawl back beneath the covers.
Depression is telling whoever might break through the demeanor and ask about my feelings that I am just hibernating and will come out in the spring.
And then spring comes… it is wondering why I said that.
It is a knowing people are fearful of mortality, fearful of real feelings, confused and so befuddled by what they think might be expected of them that they pretend also.
They make believe a person heals in some specific amount of time from a loss.
And because they are afraid, they say nothing, and then I begin to think they do not care.
Depression is what it sounds like — a dent, a literal depression in the heart.
It is sometimes so deep that only many years of work will begin to fill in that chasm.
And it may take my admission that I need help.
That, “OK, doc, I will take those meds.”
That, “Yes, please, friend, do some energy work on me.”
That, “I may need a therapist to just hear me out and be a guide.”
I may even have to accept that help.
I may have to admit I am not superwoman after all.
I may have wonderful laughing days followed by tears and then complete oblivion.
And I will have to keep telling myself, “I am not crazy.”
But, first I must pull the covers back – back from my face, my mind, my heart.
And get out of bed and answer the phone and listen to someone who cares.
If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, the Trevor Project at 1-866-488-7386 or text “START” to 741-741.
Thinkstock photo by RadulePerisic