The text of this blog is a manuscript I wrote between 2004 and 2006 about my experience with depression, and what I learned from it. I claim no psychiatric or medical expertise; I only wrote what I felt. My standpoint is that of an LDS wife and mother who has experienced depression. I know that countless others have this trial as well, and have included some thoughts, feelings, and stories from several others who were good enough to share their experiences with me (names have been changed). I feel that if there is even the slightest chance that someone may gain any measure of peace or comfort from my thoughts--even if it is derived simply from knowing that you are not alone--then this is well worth my time. If you don't agree with what I say here, that's fine with me. I never mean to oversimplify or trivialize the experience of depression, and I don't claim that anything I say will cure anyone. If you or anyone you know has depression, I hope that what I say might help. (I'll warn you right now though, if you're currently depressed, you'll probably be inclined to tell yourself that this stuff doesn't apply to you.)
Since writing this, I've experienced depression a couple of times, in the form of postpartum depression that I didn't even recognize for what it was for quite awhile, since it manifested itself more in anger than in sadness. I've also had some experience with anxiety, which adds a whole new and awful dimension to the whole thing. But for any of these circumstances, I think that the more we can talk about all of it, the more power we reclaim.

-Jana

Depression is Like

Depression is the worst I’ve ever felt about myself. Every negative feeling—guilt, anger, frustration, loneliness, emptiness—combine exponentially and push me down so I can’t breathe. I feel ignored, resentful, mean, useless, inadequate, and just plain sad.
Depression is like a downward spiral. The harder I try to get out, the more I realize I can’t. That makes me a failure, so I quit trying. But that makes me lazy and a quitter, so I get frustrated. Then I feel guilty and frustrated, so I get deeper into the darkness.
Depression is like trying to run in water up to my waist, getting deeper the harder I try. Push and struggle, I’ll never get as far as the people on dry land. They walk, even run, heedlessly on. I feel like I’m drowning, by myself, and it’s my fault. It seems that nobody can get me out.
Depression is like walking around under a gray cloud or being inside a gray bubble. The people around me can’t see it but I certainly feel it and the depressed part of me knows I don’t belong. I remember being happy, but I can no longer relate to or reach that part of myself. I feel like I’m in a different world, looking in on the happy one and wondering how to get in. I wonder if everybody else can see the darkness around me and want to stay away. They know something’s wrong with me. I hope they don’t see it, because then they’ll know that I’m “one of those” people—the kind with “problems,” so they have to be careful. I’m fragile. I’m humiliated.
I didn’t realize how depressed I was until one day when I was in a grocery store. As I looked at each person I passed, I couldn’t understand why they could be smiling. I couldn’t see what they should be happy about, or what could be good in their lives. I saw an elderly couple who looked perfectly content and wondered what they saw in their own lives that was worth any effort or that brought them any satisfaction or joy. I wondered how people around me could be acting like life was good when life was not good. When I realized I was thinking this way, I suddenly felt completely distanced from everyone else. I was in a kind of bubble and couldn’t find my way back into the real world where people were happy and life made sense. It was staggering to realize that I was actually experiencing these thoughts and feelings. This was simply not me.

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