love and depression.

Depression.

It's hard to describe what it's sticky borders feel like, difficult to put into words because it relies so heavily on the senses. Or on the assault of the senses, that is. Depression raids every last bit of the brain and body until all that's left is a hollow space, but not the kind that you can fill. It's different for every person, but for me it's always felt like a shroud, one that I  can't take off or seem to be rid of. I am still able to connect to the world, still able to reach out and see and feel and touch--but not fully. Not completely.

The darkness limits me.

I've been thinking a lot about my depression  recently, the constant companion that it is. I know I am not alone in my suffering. It doesn't take a therapist to see that our world is filled with broken spaces, interrupted only by the broken people who choose to occupy them. And I say choose to in a loose sense--some of us are more impacted than others.

We all experience this darkness so differently, and yet so acutely the same: living makes us tired. I remember being so young as ten and feeling so strongly that I was unafraid of death--it was the staying alive through all that suffering that terrified me. It was never ending, my pain. It gave no relief, no day off, accepted no excuses. Depression was my drill master and I was the recipient of its deprecating orders.

I have always viewed my depression as a foe, though a much apart of me as my heart or lungs or any other breathing part of my body. This meant that I saw myself as a foe, a broken arrow that never hit its mark quite right. Everything pained me. I felt it all so deeply, so astutely that it would knock the wind out of my lungs. Not gasping for air but just releasing it, hoping that the stillness within my chest would quiet the cries of sorrow that constantly, constantly rang in my ears.

The older I have gotten the more I have come to recognize my depression as a fellow traveler, a sensitive friend that interprets the world around her in terms of loss instead of gain. I think that those of us who suffer with depression see things that cannot be articulated, cannot be processed in simple terms. As a therapist, I know that we categorize depression in a specific way, that medication can be helpful in softening the edges of a harsh reality that has been difficult to overcome. I know because I myself take medication that keeps me from spiraling too far down the hole.

And yet, depression lingers.

Many times, we characterize depression as a sense of hopelessness or criticism, a belief that life cannot, will not get better. We view it as misfire, a mistake of perspective.

And this is true, somewhat. Depression shifts our lens and makes it hard to see what hope lies ahead.

But.

I also think that depression, and those who experience it, are feeling something that cannot be explained away by positive thinking or behavioral exercises. They are feeling something true, not something imagined or conjured up. They are feeling a loss of life, not a failure to see it.

I am coming to understand that this grief I carry with me is a result of the very thin membrane separating my pain from that of those around me. I feel it because I'm aware of it, and that awareness sets a weight upon my shoulders that burdens my weary soul. You see, it's not that I have come to find life not worth living--it's that I have and am mourning the loss of it all over.

I think that depression wears on us not because we don't think life is purposeful, but because we loved life so deeply and are eternally bereaved by the loss of it, no matter the form. We are heavy because we breathe in sorrow as air, and often hold on to it for others.

If we are able, we learn how to carry it better, how to lighten our load so that it doesn't take us under. But if I'm honest, if I'm really honest, I don't think that my depression will ever entirely leave me. And if I'm honest, really honest, I understand why it will not--

Loss is apart of life.

Even Jesus grieved the death of Lazarus.

So while I will continue to fight for hopefulness, for joy in the midst of suffering, meaning in the middle of chaos, I will also show respect for my pain and the pain of those around me. I will grieve because grief is simply a tool to communicate that what I loved has been lost.

But not completely.

Because there's still some love left in me.

Some hope left to share.

And all darkness does is point us to the light that's still shining.

We haven't lost it completely yet.