People who suffer from depression are encouraged to talk about their feelings to someone but they rarely do. No comfort comes from trying to explain something incomprehensible to the uninitiated whose response almost inevitably makes things worse. “You need to snap out of it”, they say, or they offer suggestions of activities that could be engaged in to keep one’s mind off it but their well-intentioned advice suggests that whoever is suffering from the depression is also stupid and hasn’t already thought of those things.
Anyone who’s depressed knows their thoughts are irrational so don’t judge them, just love them.
Depression is always there but it’s not always evident. It lurks in the dark recesses of the mind, a hidden predator that waits for that moment of weakness it knows will surely come. When it does, as its jaws engulf you, it secretes an anaesthetising poison that hypnotises you into believing it’s your friend.
So you welcome it; you feel grateful for the safety it brings; grateful for the cushioning cocoon of despair; grateful that it has chosen you for your worthlessness; grateful for the reassurance that the whole world would be better off if you ceased to exist.
Have you ever tried to describe colour to someone who’s been blind since birth? Go ahead, try it for yourself; pick any colour and describe it. It’s not easy is it. Maybe it’s possible but, at the end of your effort, even if the blind person says, “aaahhh, I get it now, thank you, I now understand what yellow looks like”, you’ll never be certain that they really do.
Describing depression to someone who’s never been depressed is harder. Imagine a blind person trying to describe to you what utter blackness looks like. You won’t be able to imagine it.