Maybe you manage to get yourself to work or school where task-driven adrenaline propels you along as the ever-competent person you are, but behind the smiles and efficiency is the thought, "I will not make it through this day." But, of course, you do, because what is the alternative, really? The more you get done, the more overwhelmed you become by all that there is yet to do, even once you finally get home ("Wait...I have to SHOWER?!") The very IDEA of simply standing under the water is enough to make you curl into the fetal position on the couch and stay there for a good long while.
You probably can't help but notice that everyone else in your life seems happy and well-adjusted (even if you know they really aren't, you still allow yourself to think that they are). And instead of rubbing off on you, everyone else's happiness only makes you feel more alone, more sad, and more discouraged at the state of your own life.
After feeling like this for several days, or weeks, you start to worry that you will be like this forever. You don't actually want to be dead, but you also don't want to continue on the path that you're on, and change just does not seem in the cards.
That's depression, friends. I've been there. And it is the worst.
Even though I spend less time in that state of mind now than I did in the past, I still revisit it every now and then, and even though I know it is time-limited and I know it's just me being out-of-sync biochemically, it is still real and painful--and incredibly isolating. I thought about that recently while I was in one of these Moods, and I noticed that during the entire two weeks that the depression lasted, I did not ask any of my friends for help in the moments when I needed it. That led me to wonder, Why is it so hard to ask for what we need?
Personally, I can think of several answers. To start, depression is too hard to explain. What can you really say to convey to someone how awful you feel despite the fact that your life is objectively not so bad? And then, there's the issue of how your "neediness" will be received. Sure, there is the potential for empathy, but there is also the risk of being told some version of, "You're too much for me"...and if you're anything like me, that does not always seem like a risk worth taking.
Last week, as I struggled with the question of, "to tell, or not to tell," I came across a bit of wisdom by Rabbi Joseph Telushkin, in his book, A Code of Jewish Ethics, Vol. 2. He cites a story of some peasants who were drinking in a tavern, and one peasant asked another, "Tell me, do you love me or don't you love me?" The other peasant said that he did love the first peasant, to which the first peasant replied, "You say that you love me, but you do not know what I need. If you really loved me, you would know." The lesson? That loving another person means knowing his or her needs and offering help without being asked. In response to this story, Rabbi Telushkin says the following:
"One day, though, it occurred to me that the second peasant might truly have loved his friend, but just didn't know what was bothering him or precisely what he needed. Indeed, how many people who know you--and who may well love you--might not be aware of all the things that cause you to be upset or sad?...perhaps the first peasant should have told his friend what he needed or what was troubling him and thereby offered him the chance to be helpful and empathetic."
I can see the wisdom in this...after all, when my friends come to me with their sadness or troubles, it feels very satisfying and rewarding to be able to offer them comfort. In fact, those moments bring us closer together. So why am I denying my friends the same opportunity?
Sometimes, when I'm in the middle of depression, it seems like the best thing to do is to just grit my teeth and push through--because that's what a "strong" person would do. But Rabbi Telushkin offers another perspective on that misconception, as well, through a short story:
"A little boy was struggling to lift a heavy stone but could not budge it. The boy's father, who happened to be watching, said to his son, 'Are you using all your strength?'
'Yes, I am,' the boy said with irritation.
'No, you're not,' the father answered. 'You have not asked me to help you.'"
It's hard to remember, in the moment, that asking for help is a sign of strength--in fact, it's foolish to think we can go it alone. Maybe that means asking a friend, or a family member, or a therapist...or G-d. I'll admit that I did not do a good job of this during my most recent foray into depression, but next time (because there will be a next time!) I am going to make it a goal to reach out to at least one friend and try to let her in on how I'm feeling. I encourage you to do the same...because a little companionship can make anything, even depression, a lot more bearable.
For more on asking for help and responding with empathy, watch this short gem narrated by Dr. Brené Brown. Pretty much nails it.
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