It Will Be Hard

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I was recently asked what I would say to my younger self about living with depression and experiencing suicide. “It will be hard,” was my short reply. On the surface, that doesn’t appear to be a very hopeful message. Actually, it’s not a very hopeful message below the surface either, but it is true. It needs a dialectic to round out the harshness, something like: “it will be hard, and it will get easier as you learn more about yourself and your depression.”

In my early twenties I went to a Depression Anonymous (DA) meeting. I left more depressed than I was before walking in. For some people, determining that they are powerless against their illness may be their path out of darkness, but that was never going to work for me. I needed agency, and to gain agency I needed information. More specifically, I needed true information. So I sought out experts in the fields of depression, suicidology, and lived-experience with mental illness:

My studies led me to two conclusions. One, I was not alone in my experiences. Two, it was possible to live a fulfilling life with mental illness. Neither of these conclusions would make sense to my younger self because he lacked the requisite knowledge. If I were to approach fifteen-year-old me, I’d feel obligated to tell the unvarnished truth — “Life will not get easier, in fact, you’re in the easiest part of your journey as a depressive. However, your thirst for understanding will make things more bearable, and, one day you’ll find a way to live with your depression in a way that feels unbelievable right now. Even more, you’ll have the opportunity to help others and by doing so, you’ll give greater meaning to your pain. So yeah, things are going to suck, and you’re going to hurt, and it will still be worth it to go on for another day.”

What I would hope to impart on my younger self is that while we cannot control our depression, we can control how we respond to it. That takes equal measures of knowledge and action. The treatments for mental illness are still in their infancy. We’re learning more and more each day, and the more we can normalize getting help and talking about that which frightens us, the more we can advance our ability to treat those who suffer. I do not believe that any future treatment will completely eliminate the anguish, but I do believe we can lessen the amount of time it takes for a person to make peace with their pain.

I’ll never have a conversation with my younger self, but I can honor the memory of that scared child by working to help others shorten their learning curve in living with their mental illness. I guess, if I could give one more lesson to littler me it would be: “I’d be okay doing it all over again.”