Recently, I joined the Parents with Pain Facebook group. It is so wonderful to have another positive way to connect with people who are in the same situation. During one of our discussions, several women shared that, in addition to their pain, they lived with depression and, at times, suicidal thoughts. This didn’t surprise me, as chronic pain and depression are typically comorbid conditions. What did shock me was how unsupportive their husbands/partners tended to be with regard to my fellow spoonies’ physical and mental pain. This seemed especially true whenever this involved sharing the experience of depression and suicidal thoughts with others. Words like “ashamed”, “pride”, “stigma”, “embarrassed”, and “mental cases” stood stark on the page, pushing aside the other words to reveal sorrowful secrets. They described the reactions and perceptions of these partners. I was shocked because I had never experienced this in my marriage; Mike has always been my biggest cheerleader. We’ve had plenty of bumps on the road of sorting out this new way of life, but Mike has always been beside me as we were shaken and jostled about.
Allie Brosh and NPR
Last year, I was excited to receive Allie Brosh’s book, Hyberbole and a Half, in the mail. I loved her web comic, (Adventures in Depression and Depression Part 2 are a must read) but her interview with NPR made me want her book all the more. In the book, she shares her journey with depression.
(I say “with” rather than “through” because, as anyone who has experienced long-term depression knows, it’s not some horrible houseguest who wrecks your weekend and grocery budget. It’s more of a permanent travel companion who wants to listen to horrible emo music and cover your eyes while you drive. Sometimes you can relegate it to the backseat or the trunk, but it’s always with you.)
During the interview, Allie explained that, at her lowest, she no longer wanted to exist. She didn’t necessarily want to kill herself, just somehow fade from life.
This so perfectly described me at my lowest. Because of all the physical pain, stress, and fatigue of fibromyalgia, I colorlessly admitted to Mike that I wished I could just blink out of existence so I would no longer feel the pain and hopelessness. I’ve wanted that option mostly because I’m too scared to actually kill myself. (It also takes the responsibility out of my hands.) I’ve stood at my sink with the sharp knife I’ve just washed. I’ve held it over my wrist with the faucet still running, recalling from The Craft the proper way to do it. And then I wonder how far I’d actually get before yelling, Ow ow, fucking ow!, and then just have a bloody mess, a big ER bill, and an exclusive, one-way trip to the psych ward of the hospital. I’ve thought about overdosing and stepping into traffic. I’ve laughed through tears that I wished I were dead because, then, I’d get some good sleep.
Through all these things, Mike has been supportive. He’s listened and understood. He’s urged me into therapy and reminded me to see my doctor to adjust my meds. Not once were words like get over it, all in your head, or don’t tell anyone uttered. And thankfully, he’s never given me any articles or books about the 5 Habits of Happy People or some other nonsense, otherwise I would have smashed his Adam’s apple when I throat punched him.
He never said anything like that because of one simple fact:
Depression and suicidal thoughts are not things anyone should feel ashamed of.
(Ending a sentence with a preposition? Maybe.)
They are not things that are fixed by Cher yelling, “Snap out of it!” It is not your fault that your brain chemistry works this way. For me, the thought of dying allowed me to realize that I don’t want to miss growing old with my husband,
taking over helping with the planning of my daughter’s weddings, and spoiling my grandkids. Going to that dark place, without fearing shame or stigma, was a chance for me to sort through those thoughts and feelings head on and get the help I so desperately needed.
If you are in the grip of depression, please please PLEASE do not let the fear of shame prevent you from seeking out the support you need. If your partner won’t help, see your doctor, talk to a friend, or join a support group. There are more of us than you realize. You are not alone. When more of us emerge from the shadows, more light is able to pour in and drown all the lies of suicidal thoughts and depression. And if someone tries to shame you for your depression, tell them to just get over themselves.