Hello my old friend
This morning I transcribed a mental conversation with an old friend of mine, Depression. She’s been around a lot recently (probably due to the isolation and uncertainty of Covid and a few other life circumstances). Seems like she’s always waiting in the wings to make her presence known. Listening for a sign to take over with her version of difficult comfort.
Depression first introduced herself to me on the last day of school in 5th grade. I remember that moment so succinctly. I was feeling alone and disconnected at that moment. I can feel what I felt then, now. It was the end of my first year at a new American school in England and all my new friends were very soon to be on their way to the US for summer vacation. We weren’t scheduled to fly back to California for weeks and I could see the days looming ahead, slowly dragging me in. That afternoon while I waited for my mom to pick me up from school I took my first selfie with my ancient Kodak camera. A selfie I wouldn’t see for weeks until my film was processed. When I stared at the unflattering photo weeks later, depression reminded me she was still there. I looked so sad and I had never seen my face look like that. Growing up as an only child with parents that were in the throws of a combative separation that spanned two countries, I was often alone and had no agency as far as where I would live next. And so I read voraciously buying every Sweet Sixteen and teen romance book I could get my hands on. They were my comfort. My stability. I found them. Or they found me. As an adult, I still am a total women’s romance fiction junkie. My favorite authors are Jennifer Weiner and Miriam Keyes.
As an adult, I’m cognizant of when Depression wants to drop in because her first sign is that she reminds me that I’m still alone. Things feel hollow and lack meaning. And I sink in deeper to that, to show her I can comply with her requests. I isolate, I hibernate, I withdraw. Yesterday afternoon when she was making her presence louder, I moved myself to pick up a book: Michelle Obama’s, Becoming. I leaned into Michelle’s stress which made me feel less alone in this crazy world.
This morning, she was still there, but not quite as loud as yesterday. One thing I do know that makes me feel better is writing. So I decided to engage in a journaled conversation (thank you Narrative Therapy) with my old friend, and what showed up was different from all my prior battles with her. She showed me that she tries to point out the areas that I’m overlooking and forgetting - and that’s when she descends. Whaaaat?
She said to me, that I was a stubborn introverted girl and even more stubborn woman, which is why she persisted, because I needed to know I could do better. Be better. And remarked that I still managed to do it even with her ever-present presence, and then she patted herself on the back (annoyingly) that she likes to think that if she had not been there I wouldn’t have pushed myself so hard. I laughed when that thought spilled from my fingers. I snorted. I then realized that she is part of me and the part of me that wants to remind me how easy it is to forget where I’ve come from and what I’ve done in this life. Okay then. That might not be so tragic. She let down her guard and shared that hope and connection are her arch-enemies. Maybe this is some maladaptive way of her showing me that I want more of that.
What might the thing that you don’t like, that thing that shows up unannounced and uninvited, want to say to you? What might be the opposite of what this thing wants to show you? Is that what they might be trying to show you? What have you been able to do in spite of that thing?
xo
PS. Reach out to a therapist or the NAMI WarmLine or https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org if things are getting bad. You can Google the NAMI WarmLine for your area.