Depressed and Disappearing

The report of Robin Williams death from suicide rocked the world.

Depression sucks.

Too many people find it easy to pass judgment, making shameful accusation and calling the victims of depression “cowards” for taking the easy way out. Anyone who has walked the path of depression knows every step takes courage. You don’t wake up sad one day and say “I’m sad, I think I’ll commit suicide.” It’s a long journey of weight and pain and melancholy. It’s an hourly battle that never lets up; a fight with a dragon whose talons are so deeply imbedded in your skin every move creates a deeper cut.

Robin made people laugh. He was generous with his time and his heart and his gift. He chose to put others before himself most of the time. That’s not an uncommon approach. Helping others gets your mind off the pain for a few minutes at least. But in the darkness of night the demons are restless. In the quiet places, there’s a cacophony of hate and shame. In the mundane tasks of life, there is a rhythmic pounding of a pressure cooker in the soul. The silent places are torture chambers for the depressed.

I was never a depressed person. I had moments of sadness, sometimes even melancholy, but for the most part I had a faith that carried me into a space of peace. I had my faith, I believed in myself, I made people laugh: it helped me rise above circumstance.

But earlier this year I had thoughts of suicide.

A few days after my birthday, during a long drive home, I internally collapsed beneath the pressure. Too long carrying the burden, too long alone, too many life blows and relational disappointments, a failed support system: I was too weak to take another step.

Clinical depression and situational depression are two very different entities, but the emotional distress and the altered vision is often very similar. Both situational depression and clinical depression share a common bundle of symptoms: Feeling the blues, loss of appetite or increased appetite, change in sex drive, trouble sleeping, lack of energy, apathy, problems concentrating, feelings of guilt, physical pain, agitation, feelings of hopelessness. However, the length of time for situational depression symptoms usually coincide with the duration of the stressful event(s).

This is where it becomes difficult for the long-term unemployed.

You see, situational depression is quite normal for the unemployed, but it is important to note, the unemployment itself is often only one of MANY stressors causing depression. Life happens regardless of job status. There will still be problems with the children, there will still be deaths in the family, miscarriages, and accidents; natural disasters and the world economy will still create anxiety and fear. Ironically, some of the most common stressors that bring about situational depression often accompany long-term unemployment, such as relational strife, divorce, loss of income, failure of goals, loss of self-esteem and physical illness.

The normal response is to grieve over these situations, knowing the depression will typically remit once the stressors are no longer present, or it will decrease as one learns to cope with the disturbing situation. For the long-term unemployed, the stressor doesn’t go away, it remains a catalyst for more stress, for more symptoms and more situations. Normal coping mechanisms, such as exercise, good diet, taking a break from negative input, and changing your world view, simply do not work. Coping takes a backseat to survival.

The job hunter faces rejection every day, hopelessness every day, judgement and shaming every day. Lack of income results in limited food options, and the pervasive sadness makes exercise almost impossible. This kind of situational depression is very debilitating, and all too common for the long-term unemployed.

So on that long drive home, I thought about accidental death, which would be easier for my family to mourn, would relieve their burden and certainly end my pain.

I found myself dictating a letter to my family and friends. I was angry at myself for planning it, ashamed I’d sunk so low. Those emotions only fueled the defeat. I just wasn’t strong enough to go on. I was tired, exhausted, bone weary from a journey that had me traveling the river Styxx, battling giants and demons and Satan himself. It hadn’t been a brief detour. It hadn’t been a small mishap down the mountain, or a pothole in the road. It had been years of one blow after another without any time to heal or recover. I had been bleeding out, hemorrhaging internally, and now I had gone into shock. My systems were no longer working properly, and I was alone.

When I had felt the weakness overtaking me, I had reached out for help. It wasn’t easy. It’s never easy to be so humbled; it’s never easy to admit you’re broken. I wasn’t asking for monetary assistance. I have never asked for that. I know that without a job, without an ongoing plan of action, any financial assistance is just using a teaspoon to ladle the water from a sinking ship. So, when I reached out, I was asking for an ear, a shoulder, perhaps even a creative brainstorming session. Mostly, I just needed hope.

I wanted to make certain I was concise with my words; my humor has a tendency to hide or override the severity of what I am feeling. I told my small group of friends: “I’m not doing well; I can’t take any more; I’m breaking.” I tried to be clear it wasn’t just the job loss, or my mother’s illness and death, or the miscarriage, or even the loss of friends. It was the systematic breaking down of hope and faith and self-worth. Five years of life-altering events. One was enough to justify grief and depression. The compounding events were crushing.

Comfort didn’t come as expected. Life has a way of bringing biting flies, stinging scorpions, and vicious scavengers before a good Samaritan can arrive.

I remember the Saturday I received a call that proved to be that start of a new blow. I was placed in an impossible situation. In the end I had to remove all emotion and view the situation from a lens of honesty and integrity, in truth and obligation.

When I hung up the phone, feeling trapped and defeated, I knew I’d done the only thing I could do. The wheels were already in motion: evidence had been viewed, and action was already being taken. Denying, hiding and protecting would only ensure I would be sucked into the storm as well. It would devastate me.

As it turned out, the chain of events that followed almost did. You see, the day-to-day dramas and annoyances feel insurmountable when you carry the lead skin of depression. Personal attacks, faulty assumptions, accusations, gossip, social freeze-outs: these are intermittent storms of destruction to an already beat and battered emotional landscape. People rarely understand this aspect of the long-term unemployed experience. The things considered trivial, small pebbles thrown at the “average” person, are crushing boulders to the long-term unemployed.

I felt like Wiley Coyote, crushed beneath the Acme weight and a mountain of rubble and debris. The world moved on: Beep! Beep! It would continue to move on.

After the long drive, I walked in the house and looked through the mail, numb but resolved.

The box I opened that day would change everything.

To Be continued