Have you ever opened a jigsaw puzzle and dumped the pieces out onto the table in a heap? There is no pattern, no rhyme or reason to them. You can't make out what anything is, much less the bigger picture, because there is just too much confusion. Pieces are every which way - upside down, right side up, falling on the floor, scattered in a wide circle. You have to bring out a light, start looking for the framework, sort things into piles, and bring some order to the disorder before you can really do the work of putting the puzzle back together.
And I do emphasize back together. Because that puzzle started out in one piece. It was a fully formed, single image, without flaw or fissure. Then, somewhere along the line, a sharp tool came down on top of the intact piece, and it was shattered into tiny sections, hundreds, maybe thousands of them. The fractures were imposed, the ordered world that used to exist changed forever, and the whole thing dumped unceremoniously into a box of one solitary puzzle.
Then, even when the dark and sealed box is opened, even if you persevere to put it all back together, it won't be quite the same, because those cuts will always be a part of the completed picture. No matter what happens next, life is forever changed, like a kaleidoscope as it shifts.
Depression is like that. You start life whole, unique, wonderfully made. But somewhere along the line, sometimes for obvious reasons, but more often for no apparent reason whatsoever, your mind shatters into a million tiny pieces. You look at the mess from inside your own head, and you can't even figure out where to start the sorting out, much less what the whole is supposed to look like.
I have heard recently that some people find depression to be shameful, something we shouldn't talk about in polite company. Unlike diabetes, asthma, high blood pressure, hidden diseases all, mental illness is, I am told, a taboo subject. If you are depressed, you should snap out of it, hide it, do anything but talk about it, because, well, it makes other people uncomfortable.
<<<News flash.>>> If depression makes other people uncomfortable, how do they think it makes the depressed person feel? Personally, I have yet to meet someone struggling with depression who is having a good time with it. In my experience, most depressed people are not attention seekers. On the contrary, they are usually trying to melt into the wall, the carpet, anywhere they can just disappear for a minute or a lifetime.
I refuse to hide. I have never concealed my battle with depression from others. Although ordinarily pretty reserved, especially about what is really going on in my own mind, I am okay with allowing others to know that I have struggled with this mental illness demon for most of my life, and I am okay with their discomfort at the knowledge. I am okay with knowing there are people who think I am somehow less for the experience, because I know better.
I know I am not weak for having struggled, I am strong for still being here, and being able to share my experience. And in the sharing, maybe I will help someone else get ahead, too.
I will never understand why I have faced this battle, while others whose lives were much harder than mine, have not. But why are those with mental illness expected to justify themselves at all? Do we ask the diabetic why their body doesn't produce insulin like it should? Do we accuse those with cancer of being weak for not overcoming this curse on their own? We accept other illness with an outpouring of caring and warmth, offering help, food, and other support. Why do we think mental illness deserves less? I find that perplexing.
I have often thought that people respond to depression as they do because they don't know how to fix it, and they are uncomfortable with a condition which has no simple answer. There are as many causes for depression as there are people who are depressed. Each case is individual, and you can't heal them with a simple one size fits all pill.
Depressed people are frequently difficult to be around. They are moody, often silent, their internal misery written on their face, oozing through every pore of their body. Although it is frustrating and hurtful for their loved ones, how much more painful for them to be trapped where they cannot escape?
A depressed person sees their life through the shattered remnants of a whole, now broken. There is no order, no method, no clear picture of how their life should be. Instead, there is pain, there is sorrow, there is darkness. They are caught inside the trap of their own mind, a cage that can only be opened from the inside, but with the key somewhere inaccessible.
I used to see myself through the lens of failure, focused on what I haven't accomplished or thought or achieved. I didn't feel worthy of being loved as everyone deserves to be loved, because I thought I was somehow less for my struggles.
But a few years ago, after a lot of counseling and hard work, the kaleidoscope shifted once again. I reframed my life in my own mind. I have slowly started putting the pieces back into place, the puzzle is taking form, and I am viewing myself through a new perspective.
I am a survivor. I am strong, capable, and most importantly, worthy. I am valuable, not just to those who depend on me for one reason or another, but inherently, just for myself. I bring unique and special gifts to the world, which only I can share in exactly this way.
I am not perfect. The once clear image will never again be pristine. There will always be cracks and fissures, easily seen on the surface, of course, but more importantly, going clear through my life. I am still easily broken, constantly humbled by the sheer task of living, and yet, encouraged as I see it all coming together again.
Why talk about depression? Why expose my inner battles to the world? What is to be gained from talking about what is, in so many minds, unspeakable?
Depression can happen to anyone. You can be wealthy or poor. You can be married or single. You can be young or old. You can have a reason or no reason at all. You can be tall, short, blond, brunette, smart, silly, pretty, plain.
You can be you. And when it is you, the one thing you need to know, more than any other thing, is that you can survive and be whole again.
Those million tiny pieces of your mind can come together and form a whole, and it will be beautiful, not because the picture is perfect, but because it isn't. Your puzzle can be complete, not the same, but better for having overcome the destruction. Reach out, ask for help, and believe in your own worth. You are priceless.
