Hey everyone. It’s been a Sam Sanders minute. So, I’ve had a freaking time of writing this post—I’ve written multiple drafts, both typed and by hand. I’ve written it in my head many times while in the shower and driving. The thing is, while I’m pretty good at telling stories and though I do tell stories drawn from my own life quite a bit, I don’t actually talk about myself and what’s really going on with me that much. To most people. Especially publicly. (I’m working on this!) And this thing I’m going to tell you about is very much actually about me. It’s about where I’ve been, why I haven’t written in the Newsletter, haven’t put any new podcasts out, et cetera. Because the thing is that I’ve been down in it with some deep depression.
People who’ve never been depressed (you go, you mentally healthy unicorn!) might think that depression = intense sadness. And I guess that’s the case sometimes. But the thing is that you can be depressed, carrying this weight around with you and experience lots of different emotions—you can even have moments of happiness while being in the throes of depression. Depression ebbs and flows. It’s not an emotion so much as it’s a state of being. A low background drone. Like tinnitus of the mind.
But if you really want to know what bone-deep depression feels like, all you have to do is watch season 4 of Stranger Things. The villain in that season, Vecna, is essentially a stand in for depression (and shame, and other related issues) and what it does to people.
Depression is very much like a horror movie monster. It’s sneaky. It starts by making a little inroad into your brain—a little fissure—when you’re vulnerable, and then through that little opening, it starts digging its clutches into you. There’s self doubt. Distraction and preoccupation with the insides of your own head to the exclusion of what’s going on in the world in front of you. A feeling of being elsewhere. Normal things start feeling incredibly hard, and sometimes pointless, to do, as if you’ve got lead in your veins. There’s a growing certainty that no one cares and why should they? So you stop reaching out to people. You stop engaging with the world. The monster’s aim is to isolate you totally. To get you alone, separate you from everyone and everything, and make you believe that its alternate version of reality is real. That you belong only with it. At this point, you’re walking through the world, but not really there—not really touching the ground. And then ultimately, the monster’s goal is to twist you into a crumpled little pretzel and poke out your eyes. Metaphorically.
There’s a part in the season where the character Max, who’s being pursued by Vecna and who is sure she’s going to die, writes goodbye letters to everyone and her friend/ex/fingers-crossed-soon-to-be-bf-again Lucas approaches her, imploring her to just talk to her friends—to talk to him. And he says, “I don’t want a letter, Max. I’m here. I’m right here!”
And something about what he’s saying seems to get to Max—for just a nano-second. But then she walks away, and ultimately (SPOILER ALERT) right into an epic battle with Vecna. This scene is the perfect illustration of the alternate reality that depression creates in the mind of the person who’s experiencing it. The world is right there. People are right there—maybe even all around you. Possibility, life, joy…it’s all right there. But Vecna, depression, makes you fully believe that you can’t touch any of it. That you’re different than the normal people around you. Worse, somehow. Broken. So you walk around feeling like there’s this impenetrable veil between you and the world. That people couldn’t possibly understand. And that if you tried to tell anyone, they’d surely think you were bonkers.
And anyway, that’s where I’ve been. Hanging out with Vecna. For months. It has sucked a lot. But much like Max has a moment of awakening and realizes finally what’s happening, that she wants to get the eff away from Vecna and his evil mind tricks, because of her friends and Kate Bush, I snapped out of it recently. My moment was way less dramatic and involved way less Kate Bush (I mean, there was a little Kate Bush): In talking to an old friend, I suddenly remembered everything. The words I said, trying to explain what was going on with me were clunky and inadequate, but I kept talking. And in talking to her, I saw myself and the world clearly for the first time in a long time. She didn’t even know she’d done it. But that moment gave me the one little inroad I needed to turn back to the world. And I’m getting there.
And I thought I should share that with you instead of keeping it to myself, just in case you’ve felt this way, too. I think a lot of us have been feeling this way because of the stupid pandemic. It’s negative impact has been real, people. We’ve experienced so much loss, individually and collectively. But as my favorite radio station always says, YOU ARE NOT ALONE. We’re here. I’m here. Get in touch, okay? Especially if it feels futile and like the last thing in the world you want to do.
Also, I’ve got a TON of great stuff lined up for the Tiny Histories podcast. But that’s for the next newsletter!
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