again.
‘It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay . . .’
I turned the corner and I prayed more than anything not to see someone I knew on Wellington Road. No one. Just emptiness and suburban, semi-detached, late Victorian houses, lined up and staring at each other.
And I got back to number 33, my parents’ house, and I rang the bell and Andrea answered and I was inside and there was no relief, because my mind was quick to point out that being relieved about surviving a trip to the corner shop was another confirmation of sickness, not wellness. But maybe, mind, there would come a day when you could be as slow as the girl in the shop at pointing out such things.
‘You’re getting there,’ said Andrea.
‘Yeah,’ I said, and tried so hard to believe it.
‘We’re going to get you better.’
It’s not easy, being there for a depressive.
A conversation across time – part two
THEN ME : I can’t do this.
NOW ME : You think you can’t, but you can. You do. You will.
THEN ME : This pain, though. You must have forgotten what it was like. I went on an escalator today, in a shop, and I felt myself disintegrating. It was like the whole universe was pulling me apart. Right there, in John Lewis.
NOW ME : I probably have forgotten, a little bit. But listen, look, I’m here. I’m here now. And I made it. We made it. You just have to hold on.
THEN ME : I so want to believe that you exist. That I don’t kill you off.
NOW ME : You didn’t. You don’t. You won’t.
THEN ME : Why would I stay alive? Wouldn’t it be better to feel nothing than to feel such pain? Isn’t zero worth more than minus one thousand?
NOW ME : Listen, just listen, just get this through yourhead, okay – you make it, and on the other side of this there is life. L-I-F-E. You understand? And there will be stuff you enjoy. And just stop worrying about worrying. Just worry – you can’t help that – but don’t meta-worry.
THEN ME : You look old. You have crow’s feet. Are you starting to lose your hair?
NOW ME : Yes. But remember, we’ve always worried about this stuff. Can you remember that holiday to the Dordogne when we were ten? We leaned forward into the mirror and started to worry about the lines in our forehead. We were worrying about the visible effects of ageing back then. Because we have always been scared of dying.
THEN ME : Are you still scared of dying?
NOW ME : Yes.
THEN ME : I need a reason to stay alive. I need something strong that will keep me here.
NOW ME : Okay, okay, give me a minute . . .
Reasons to stay alive
1.
You are on another planet. No one understands what you are going through. But actually, they do. You don’t think they do because the only reference point is yourself. You have never felt this way before, and the shock of the descent is traumatising you, but others have been here. You are in a dark, dark land with a population of millions.
2.
Things aren’t going to get worse. You want to kill yourself. That is as low as it gets. There is only upwards from here.
3.
You hate yourself. That is because you are sensitive. Pretty much every human could find a reason to hate themselves if they thought about it as much as you did. We’re all total bastards, us humans, but also totally wonderful.
4.
So what, you have a label? ‘Depressive’. Everyone would have a label if they asked the right professional.
5.
That feeling you have, that everything is going to get worse, is just a symptom.
6.
Minds have their own weather systems. You are in a hurricane. Hurricanes run out of energy eventually. Hold on.
7.
Ignore stigma. Every illness had stigma once. We fear getting ill, and fear tends to lead to prejudice before information. Polio used to be erroneously blamed on poor people, for instance. And depression is often seen as a ‘weakness’ or personality failing.
8.
Nothing lasts for ever. This pain won’t last. The pain tells you it will last. Pain lies. Ignore it.
‘It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay . . .’
I turned the corner and I prayed more than anything not to see someone I knew on Wellington Road. No one. Just emptiness and suburban, semi-detached, late Victorian houses, lined up and staring at each other.
And I got back to number 33, my parents’ house, and I rang the bell and Andrea answered and I was inside and there was no relief, because my mind was quick to point out that being relieved about surviving a trip to the corner shop was another confirmation of sickness, not wellness. But maybe, mind, there would come a day when you could be as slow as the girl in the shop at pointing out such things.
‘You’re getting there,’ said Andrea.
‘Yeah,’ I said, and tried so hard to believe it.
‘We’re going to get you better.’
It’s not easy, being there for a depressive.
A conversation across time – part two
THEN ME : I can’t do this.
NOW ME : You think you can’t, but you can. You do. You will.
THEN ME : This pain, though. You must have forgotten what it was like. I went on an escalator today, in a shop, and I felt myself disintegrating. It was like the whole universe was pulling me apart. Right there, in John Lewis.
NOW ME : I probably have forgotten, a little bit. But listen, look, I’m here. I’m here now. And I made it. We made it. You just have to hold on.
THEN ME : I so want to believe that you exist. That I don’t kill you off.
NOW ME : You didn’t. You don’t. You won’t.
THEN ME : Why would I stay alive? Wouldn’t it be better to feel nothing than to feel such pain? Isn’t zero worth more than minus one thousand?
NOW ME : Listen, just listen, just get this through yourhead, okay – you make it, and on the other side of this there is life. L-I-F-E. You understand? And there will be stuff you enjoy. And just stop worrying about worrying. Just worry – you can’t help that – but don’t meta-worry.
THEN ME : You look old. You have crow’s feet. Are you starting to lose your hair?
NOW ME : Yes. But remember, we’ve always worried about this stuff. Can you remember that holiday to the Dordogne when we were ten? We leaned forward into the mirror and started to worry about the lines in our forehead. We were worrying about the visible effects of ageing back then. Because we have always been scared of dying.
THEN ME : Are you still scared of dying?
NOW ME : Yes.
THEN ME : I need a reason to stay alive. I need something strong that will keep me here.
NOW ME : Okay, okay, give me a minute . . .
Reasons to stay alive
1.
You are on another planet. No one understands what you are going through. But actually, they do. You don’t think they do because the only reference point is yourself. You have never felt this way before, and the shock of the descent is traumatising you, but others have been here. You are in a dark, dark land with a population of millions.
2.
Things aren’t going to get worse. You want to kill yourself. That is as low as it gets. There is only upwards from here.
3.
You hate yourself. That is because you are sensitive. Pretty much every human could find a reason to hate themselves if they thought about it as much as you did. We’re all total bastards, us humans, but also totally wonderful.
4.
So what, you have a label? ‘Depressive’. Everyone would have a label if they asked the right professional.
5.
That feeling you have, that everything is going to get worse, is just a symptom.
6.
Minds have their own weather systems. You are in a hurricane. Hurricanes run out of energy eventually. Hold on.
7.
Ignore stigma. Every illness had stigma once. We fear getting ill, and fear tends to lead to prejudice before information. Polio used to be erroneously blamed on poor people, for instance. And depression is often seen as a ‘weakness’ or personality failing.
8.
Nothing lasts for ever. This pain won’t last. The pain tells you it will last. Pain lies. Ignore it.
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