A day in the life of a depressed person

*This entry was written some years ago, when I, once again, fell into a depression. I shared this with several people who found it very helpful for understanding someone who is depressed, so thought I would include this here in case it helps someone.

I’m here again. After a six-month hiatus from my depression and anxiety, it’s back. When I was “out of it,” back in a clear frame of mind, I wasn’t stupid enough to think it could never come back. Like an alcoholic who knows just one drink could send him down the road to his old demons, I knew that I “could” be back here in this place, this place of isolation and defeat.

But I just kept hoping I wouldn’t be. A part of me kept hoping this last round with depression would be the “last round.” That from this point onward, sure, I might feel a bit low or irritable at times, but no, not in the pit again. Not in the uncontrollable crying, the sense of isolation so deep, you think you’ll need surgical gloves to remove it. No, not depression again.

But here I am. And I wondering what I’m supposed to gain this time around. Am I supposed to learn something new? Have a new epiphany? Or am I supposed to practice old skills—that friends and therapists and experience have told me are the ways to walk out of this depression again.

Those skills—those tricks—that are “supposed” to help you walk through your depression, I’m telling you, they make absolutely no sense to a depressed brain. My brain tells me to go into the depression, to figure it out, to ask it “why” questions, to fix, fix, fix it and find an answer. But my experience tells me it will never get fixed that way. Healing is not fixing. Healing is gaining strength little by little. It’s practicing skills that are counterintuitive to your depressed brain and doing them, even though your depressed brain is screaming at you not to.

Healing is not fixing. Healing is gaining strength little by little. It’s practicing skills that are counterintuitive to your depressed brain and doing them, even though your depressed brain is screaming at you not to.

Healing is taking a bath, eating food good for your body. It’s resting, watching a show, playing a game, colouring. It’s walking in nature, polishing your nails, sitting in the sunshine. It’s baking or organizing or knitting—pulling your mind away from the depressed thoughts, like a reluctant child, and by doing these things, you’re bringing your sick, depressed brain into a healthier spot where it has a chance to start thinking clearly again.

I’m wondering what it is I need to learn this round. Most of the time I’m looking for some great epiphany, something that will rock me to my core and that I think will be the magic bandaid that takes away my depression.

But I’m usually wrong. Usually each “round” of depression is just another bout for me to solidify the practice of self-care, to take in all the love I can, and to even talk back to myself.

Talk to myself? Yeah, you see, when I’m depressed, I feel cognizant of a duality within me. The depressed, sad, little part of me that holds all the pain and believes all sorts of lies about herself, and then the adult part of me—the part that is learning how to put on her “big girl pants.” When I take the time to take care of my heart: by doing things I love, setting up dates with friends, eating well—you know, taking care of my own needs—that depressed part, well, she stays quiet and happy and content. But if I neglect myself, that depressed part comes out and she feels unsafe within me, because she can’t count on me to take care of her.

They say hindsight is 20/20, and to be honest, I “see” why I’m in this place again. Because “Big Girl Pants” started neglecting us. For weeks, she simply worked, went home, and didn’t nurture any of her relationships with herself or with friends or family. And partly she didn’t because “Depressed Part” doesn’t want “Big Girl Pants” to be the one who does all the social convening. Depressed Part is depressed because she believes she doesn’t matter, she’s unwanted, unexplored, unknown. But some of that dichotomy may be because Big Girl Pants has left the building. She’s shirked her duties to care for herself. She’s stopped making dates with people. She’s stopped doing things she enjoys. She’s stopped, though, because she’s proving what she already believes: she doesn’t matter to others.

For the past number of weeks, I should have seen the depression coming. I’ve been “unsettled,” lonely, miserable for weeks… I just didn’t see the signs of depression before it was too late.

I do feel like I need to grieve. Once again, I need to grieve for the little girl: that she didn’t receive the love she needed; I need to mourn the neglect and somehow bridge a way between myself to show myself that I am loved and cherished and beautiful… just the way I am.