What's Not There

The other night a friend asked how I am. We were at a party, and hadn’t shared a conversation for a few weeks. He asked casually, not putting any special emphasis in his tone, his eye betraying no deeper meaning. Nonetheless I knew I could skip the small talk and go right into talking about how much my meds and therapy have been helping my mood the last few weeks.

Slipping into depression is like being in a room where the breathable air is slowly leaking out. The effect is inconsistent. Sleep becomes mismanaged. Logical errors in thought are explained away and compensated for. It’s difficult to notice before it turns severe, and by that point Pride has already snuck in and moved the EXIT sign to the wrong door (which is locked, bricked up from the other side, and once you finagle and hammer your way through those obstacles it turns out to be a closet filled with snacks and Netflix to trick you into staying. It works).

This same friend had contacted me privately a few weeks ago. When I posted about my most recent Bout, he offered guidance as one who was some steps ahead on the same path. At this party the other night I had been trying to sneak out and go home, but sneaking is a challenge when you’re built like an ogre and dress like The Matrix takes place in Texas. I even had one foot literally out the door when I heard him call my name, but – introverted as I am – his request for my company made me happy to spend a few more minutes in a loud room of mostly strangers.

Depression has been a companion of mine for many years, but this is the first time I’ve fought it with professional help; the results are difficult to quantify. As my friend and I talked he helped me to realize that when depression starts to abate, it’s not about what you feel, but which thoughts and feelings aren’t there anymore. One day you simply catch yourself in the middle of an average day and are surprised to realize that you didn’t struggle to get out of bed that morning. Or call yourself worthless. Or hope to get hit by a bus. When you stop to think about it, you didn’t do those things yesterday, either . . . . huh.

I’m not walking around feeling good per se. But there is a lack of feeling bad, and I’m looking forward to moving into the void with a few projects I’ve been putting off.