A woman sits alone in a quiet room, weighted down by a sadness that has come over her like a heavy, smothering wet blanket. She feels alone, hopeless, has no energy. She cries often. She has had bad things happen to her, feels like a failure, sees nothing but the dark days of winter and cold and isolation and shame ahead.
Almost by accident, as if a force inside her was gently encouraging her to do it, she picks up a pen and opens an old notebook. Maybe one that her child abandoned when she moved away, maybe an old sheaf of paper. And for a time she merely doodles. Tries to draw, tries to focus her mind.
Finally, she writes, “What’s wrong?” on the paper. She starts listing all her faults. Her failings. Her losses, in love, in comfort. She nearly writes about some bad, horrible memories she may have…but at the last second her thoughts veer away.
After a time she puts down the pen. It’s enough. She may feel…just tired after that. She sleeps, even though it is the middle of the day. Later she wakes up and makes tea and stares out the window.
Or perhaps she does feel better. Just a bit. She glances at her list of faults and problems. Shrugs, and then decides she should make her bed. Maybe change the sheets. Feed the cat.
The complexity of depression
Many people with depression have had similar experiences. Sometimes a feeling of being overwhelmed, sometimes the near-opposite, a sense of flatness, numbness, emptiness. It is often the case that depression is mingled with other bad feelings and thoughts: anxiety, panic, fear. Old traumas that never seem to fade are often the distant cause of current depression, confusion, endless-seeming pain. The body is often affected in myriad ways as well, whether through chronic pain, cravings for toxic substances, headaches, fibromyalgia. Or just a constant fatigue, a need to sleep, an inability to sleep.
Depression’s complications are many — it is not simply a matter of a down mood or a few simple-to-identify bad thoughts or mental habits. It’s like a ball of yarn that’s been dragged out into the yard and forgotten for a season. It’s tangled, messy, dirty, knotted, and it smells bad.
It is important to respect, and not to ignore, how complicated and tangled depressions usually are. They are like a tangle of yarn from four or five or ten different sources, mingled together. It is in fact the very complexity, the many many things that both cause and then result from depression, that makes it, often, so overwhelming.
Untangling the mess
I’m going to suggest a lot of things that might help you to feel better if you’re depressed. They will include very simple things you can do or think, and also some that, to work, will require that you learn a simple set of skills. (Nothing too hard, but probably things nobody taught you to do at home or in school.) In fact, my book will list over fifty things you can do to manage, or even eliminate, depression.
But one simple thing, one that many people do find helpful, is to write down the answers to two questions.
The first question is, “what’s wrong?”
From “What’s wrong with me?” to something else…
When we’re depressed, our first impulse when asking ourselves this question is to ask “what’s wrong with me? We tend to want to blame ourselves. This can, sometimes, lead to a litany of self-blaming statements that only sink us deeper into the blackness of our moods… much like struggling to pull your feet out of quicksand will only sink you deeper into it.
I would suggest a slight change in what you write. Just write the question this way:
What’s wrong in my life? What’s going on that is bothering me?
Then jot down anything that is troubling you. Be messy. If there are “external” problems like money or relationship worries, write them out — shorthand, or even drawings, can be enough. List names, list situations, list the sink full of dishes, the backache, the unpaid bills.
The point in writing out your problems this way is not to fuel more ruminating about them. The point is to clear your mind.
That’s all it’s for. For now, having things a bit out there, may be enough.
When I was learning to be a therapist my favorite supervisor, Paul, explained something to me about doing a first interview with a patient. It has always stuck with me.
He advised me to start my intake interviews with one question: “What brings you in?” Then to just listen. Give the client the space to talk about it. All of it. All of the many things that are troubling them. And don’t start jumping in with a hundred questions and suggestions.
Paul said that you wait for the moment when the person has talked it out. The moment when they have listed, explained, talked about all the things that are troubling them. It might be one thing, or two, or fifty. But a moment wil come when they finally stop. They may audibly sigh. They relax.
It’s all out there. Finally.
Write until you get to that point. Until it’s all out there.
Maybe you cry. Or maybe it seems clearer now.
Then rest. Take a nap. Sip some tea.
That may be enough for now.