The Darkness at Noon

Today, a friend shared with me her worries for a friend who had fallen into severe depression. A gregarious fellow known for his good cheer, he had inexplicably become so severely depressed that he has lost all interest in life, and has even expressed his intention to commit suicide.

Her tale brought some thoughts back to mind that, while not unpleasant, are not exactly comfortable or comforting either.

Her tale reminded me of my own struggle with depression.

When I was 17, I was officially diagnosed by a psychologist with clinical depression. He recommended that I be checked into a mental ward for at least a week for treatment. I heard the words "mental ward", and immediately said, "No".

Sometimes, I wonder how my life would have turned out if I had said "Yes" to that instead. Maybe, my recovery period would have been shorter and not as painful.

My mother readily agreed to my request, and did not push me to enter treatment at the ward. Maybe, she, too, did not want to deal with the stigma of a "mental ward". I went for weekly counselling sessions instead. I also went to the gym, as part of the "Stop Being Anaemic" plan suggested by another doctor.

The sessions, both gym and counselling, worked in a way, but seemed to have no overall or lasting effect. In between the highs of each session, in between thinking, "Yes! I can do it!", is not so much the thoughts of apathy but the feelings of absolute deject, hopelessness and misery.

They pull you down with a force that rivals black holes. Gravity is not a friend.

You stand in the brightest noon with the heat of the sun beating down on you, and it feels like you're in the midst of darkest midnight.

You know the sun is shining, but you wonder why you don't feel it. You know life is worth living, but you don't feel it.

You don't really feel much of anything at all, which is why that taste of the serrated blade against your skin is particularly sweet and exquisite. It is the sigh of a breath held too long. It is the smile of your shoulder as it sets that burden down. It is the absolution of cool water on a hot day.

It is catharsis, and it feels like life.

You're know you're breathing, but you're not alive. You're not dead, but you want to be because you deserve it. You deserve that long rest. You deserve that escape.

I was really productive during those years. I wrote pages and pages in a single day. I even wrote poetry (badly).

Sometimes, when I remember those days, I think to myself, "Wow. The only things I was missing were really heavy eye-liner and black lipstick."

How did my friends ever stand me?

I cannot remember how many plans I brought to the brink of execution and failed to follow through. I felt like a failure for not being able to do it, and I hated myself more for it. Each time I tried and failed, I fell ever lower in my own esteem. I've only had one serious attempt, and, even that one, I still sometimes feel like I hate myself because I couldn't even do that right.

I am so worthless, I can't even kill myself. What irony.

I always thought I'd be dead before I turned 25. When I turned 27, I had an unexpected triumph. I had defied my father to do something I really wanted. Soon after that triumph, I was walking along a square. The sun was shining, and I looked up at the sky that looked so much like home, but isn't. And, I thought to myself, "I have a future. I think I might actually live past 30, or even reach 50!"

I started thinking that I might even have to start worrying about a retirement fund!

How did it happen? That, after 10 years, I finally felt the sun again.

Sometimes, I still feel like there's a band of darkness inside me. I'm still wondering what to make of that.

When I did my Master in Clinical Psychology (ironic, isn't it?) a few years ago, I came across a few interesting studies in the treatment for clinical depression.

Electro-Convulsive Therapy.

Otherwise known as electric shock therapy. If you're old enough, you can refer to those images of Jack Nicholson strapped on a bed and convulsing from the electric shocks passed through his brain from two paddles strapped to his head.

Nowadays, Electro-Convulsive Therapy (ECT) has undergone a change. It has emerged from its dark days where it became synonymous with torture. It was first found to be effective for those suffering from Post Partum Depression. Further studies found it effective for those with severe depression.

And, nowadays, ECT is administered to the patient while the patient is unconscious, and by trained therapists only.

I wish ECT was available when I needed it.

I find myself here, instead. I look back on those days, and I wondered how the brightest, hottest noon could ever feel like dark Siberia. My brain has changed, and I am so happy and relieved that it has. I don't think that "suffering from depression" is completely accurate. I think "drowning from depression" is more on the mark because "suffering" suggests a self-ability to heal oneself that comes with effort.

"Drowning" feels like a fight for life, a heroic struggle to stay afloat, to take one more breath, and hold it while you go under one more time. Your muscles are tired, but you can't give up because your body won't let you. And, then, your mind won't let you. And, then, your spirit won't let you. And, at the end, the only thing that won't let you die is some unknowable force that somehow helps your feet find purchase in fluid water and helps you rise up for one more gasp of air.

It is tiring. It wears on the body. It strains at the mind. And, it depletes the spirit. And, you are tired, body, mind and soul. So tired. Please stop. I can't take one more step. Please let me sleep. Please let me rest. Please let me wake up no more.

I tried faking it till I made it. I think that freaked out my friends and made some of them stay away. Do I like myself? No. But, I came to be comfortable with myself. Listening to my thoughts, becoming friends with them.

Short-term projects worked. For some absurd reason, I feel compelled and obliged to stay till the end of the project. "Then, I can go", I thought.

I think this is why I love my age, even though sometimes I have to stop and think to remember how old I am. I never expected to get this far, literally, in life.

But, here I am, and I'm still here. I'm planning to staying as long as I like. And, I like ... very much.