I’m writing while listening to music by someone who killed himself.
That doesn’t narrow it all the way down.
It’s good writing music. I loved it when it came out and I still really enjoy it.
I’m thinking about depression and how we hide from ourselves. I’ve chosen to be very open that I struggle with depression, but very few people seem able—or willing—to integrate knowing about my depression into their relationships with me. The people who can handle it are people who deal with depression or anxiety. Friends who work in mental health. Maybe a handful of others.
Do my friends suck? No, they really don’t. I have spectacular friends. I’m blessed beyond what I could deserve.
Putting the shoe on the other foot, I find treating others with awareness is tricky because I don’t want to patronize or belittle. But it’s also tricky because I prefer not to know negatives. I’m saying this about me, and I dwell in the land of knowing people’s “dirty little” secrets. I also don’t want to reduce anyone to their struggle. I don’t want to think less of them than they deserve. I don’t know any “drug addicts,” but I do know some people who wrestle with addiction. I don’t know any poor people, but I’ve lived next to beautiful, generous people who live in poverty.
I’m not “a depressive.” I’m a pastor and a writer and a husband and a father and a bloody good ultimate player (comments welcome). I also live with depression. Naming it doesn’t mean we become only that.
I’m thinking about a picture I saw recently, a collage of entertainers and famous people (how is that for categorizing instead of seeing individuals?), all quickly identifiable, all looking deliriously happy in that moment…and all now dead from suicide.
I hope you see where I’m going. Someone, many someones, did not integrate their knowledge of these people’s condition into their relationships. Maybe they didn’t want to know. The people–these mothers and fathers and children who had experienced success in their careers but also fiercely battled depression–hid it from themselves, or at least covered it up when they needed to be getting more help. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have that collage. I don’t know that every suicide is preventable–people have free will and some will make their decision no matter what we do–but I have known people who committed suicide and I know I could have done more. Could I have prevented it? I’ll never know. I’ll live with that question the rest of my life.
I’m thinking specifically of someone I knew for much of my life. We weren’t always close–for a while we couldn’t stand each other–but we had become friendly antagonists, the kind you have only with someone with whom you once had a fistfight (symbolically or literally). Sometimes you’re just friends due to proximity (see: high school), but because we’d bonded and kind of gotten each other, because we had good and bad memories together, we stayed connected.
We went very different directions. He served in the military. He never married. Tragically, he developed a drinking problem and then suffered a horrible accident. He got very depressed. His health was never right again after the accident. He had to use a lot of prescription medication, including pain medication. Then he died.
Except in between there, we had conversations. A few times he wrote me when he was clearly inebriated. I don’t know how much he remembered of those. He asked me questions. I tried to tell him about my faith.
Except. Here’s the part I live with. I didn’t want to force it down his throat. I wanted to be the cool Christian who wasn’t beating him over the head with my Bible. I didn’t exactly play coy–I was direct with him about what I believe and why. I talked about our work in Nicaragua. I made a few suggestions for him. But I left it to him to connect the dots. I told him I’d be happy to tell him more when he was ready to ask me more about it.
You might think that’s fine. You might even say, “Good for you! People shouldn’t push their faith on others.”
Yes. But then I woke up one morning and found out he’d died.
Could I have done more? Could I have helped prevent it somehow?
I’ll never know. But I could have told him more about the hope I’ve found in Jesus in my life. I could have been more open about my own depression and how I’ve felt suicidal at points in my life. Maybe he would have raised his hands and said, “Okay, enough.” Maybe. But I won’t know, will I? I was trying to give him the space to ask in his own time. I think I also wanted to come across a certain way.
So I’m not doing that again.
If you deal with depression, if you struggle with negative thoughts and wonder if all this is worth it, I see you. (I mean, I don’t, I’m staring at a computer screen, but I get it and I am willing to see you.) Hiding from ourselves does no good. I just checked in with a dear friend who attempted suicide a few months ago. That person is doing okay right now and has found support.
I’m still listening to INXS. Michael Hutchence is still dead. You’re reading this, so you’re still alive. If you’re hiding from yourself, not really dealing with your depression, I urge you to take a step. Talk to someone. It’s hard to know whom to trust with such heavy truth about ourselves. It’s easier just to smile in the pictures. A friend has said when he’s completely depressed, he isn’t going to talk to anyone. That means the conversation needs to happen now, before it’s to that point.
I have a friend whom I have told, “The morning I decide to kill myself, you’re the one I’m going to call.”
If reading that just made you horribly uncomfortable, I’m sorry, but I really don’t care (I’m sorry that I don’t care? Guess that’s what “Sorry, not sorry” means). I’m not making the same mistake again, ever, and to me that means helping others by talking about it. If being more open saves a life, I’m willing for you to be uncomfortable and for me to be embarrassed. I’m even willing to have people be awkward around me or, if necessary, lose friendships. Those are costs, but saving a life matters more. You want to know a high cost? Waking up to find out your friend killed himself. I’m not exactly sure why God put me here, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t to make you comfortable. Or if it was, I suck at it.
I’m being completely serious now–if you need to tell someone, do it. Today. If you have someone you need to check on, do it now. This time in January is reportedly when depression hits people hardest in the US: grey winter, bills from the holidays, New Year’s Resolutions broken…oh, and this year a government shutdown.
Do what you can, while you can. You don’t know what you’ll wake up to tomorrow.