Depression.
I use the Notes app on my iPhone to keep a running list of potential Substack articles. If nothing is brewing top of mind on any particular day, I’ll look at the list and see if anything stirs me.
Many months ago, I wrote the word depression.
It apparently seemed like a good idea at the time, but I’ve always skipped over it to something lighter, or easier to talk about.
Just over 20 years ago I went through a serious battle with depression.
Looking back, I now know I experienced various levels of depression for much of my life. But I didn’t recognize it, and I never dealt with it.
Before I write anything else, let me be sure to say that what I am writing about here is MY experience. I am not a doctor or therapist and I have zero expertise in this area. Except for my own story.
As we walk through the holiday season, depression seems to be amplified for many people so I thought I would briefly share my story, along with a few thoughts.
My battle with depression hit the breakpoint just over 20 years ago.
I had convinced myself the world would be better off without me. I told myself I had “peaked” and things would never be good again.
I almost completely isolated myself and there were days when I couldn’t go outside. More than once I took my motorcycle out at night and rode 100+ mph on back roads where I knew there were deer, and I asked God to send one out in front of me.
I couldn’t focus enough to read, which is one of my favorite things to do. I’d start a movie and lose interest in less than a minute. I stopped opening mail, which I’ve since learned is a canary in the coal mine for me, oddly enough. Nothing was fun, interesting, or pleasurable.
In short, my emotions were shut down. Disconnected.
I didn’t go to church, I didn’t talk to friends. I didn’t do anything creative. I flatlined and I didn’t know what to do about it.
Thankfully my friend Greg, who ran an ad agency, was at least partially aware of what was happening and he kept trying to keep me moving. He had me shoot a TV commercial for him at a fitness center in Maryland.
I was taping in the cardio room when I ran into a guy I had known for many years as a pastor and radio show host. He had quit both, returned to college to finish his PhD and was now a licensed counselor.
When he saw me, he stopped working out and came over.
“How are you doing, Bill?”
I replied honestly that I was not doing so well, and he said he had heard.
Great.
Dr Fred gave me one of his business cards and told me I should call his office and schedule lunch with him. No charge. He could help.
Right.
The card sat in the cup holder of my car for several months until one day I finally called him. I had nothing left to lose.
We met at a Chinese restaurant and after we ordered, Dr Fred said, “So tell me your story. What’s going on?”
I opened my mouth to speak and instead of producing words, I started crying.
I tried to collect myself, and I started over. Only this time, I started sobbing. I was so embarrassed.
Dr Fred held up his hand and said, “Let me talk, and you stop me when I’m wrong.” He then proceeded to, as my dad would say, ‘read my mail.’
Eventually, I stopped crying and accepted his offer to start counseling sessions the next day. I went several times that week, and for weeks after. Then once a week. Then every other week.
He prescribed some anti-depressants, which I took. And he helped me walk through, and out of, the worst days of my life. He told me at the Chinese restaurant that my best days were ahead of me, and I didn’t believe him.
Thank God I was willing to give it a try.
Why do I write about this deeply personal and difficult season of my life?
Because I want you to know that if you are there right now - your instinct is to probably hide it. To withdraw. To try and fix it yourself. Or to make an incredibly bad decision that will forever impact the people that love you.
I want you to know there is hope and there is a way out, and it very likely involves a professional counselor or therapist and the biggest lie you are believing right now is that you shouldn’t call one.
I am still prone to the dark cloud trying to sneak in now and then, but Dr Fred taught me ways to change the channel and, most importantly, he helped me learn that I am not alone.
There are many others who struggle with this, and there are many people around who can help you get better. You can’t trust your instincts and stuffing it down doesn’t fix it.
If you can’t find someone to help, reach out to me and I will help you find someone.
Your best days are ahead of you.
I remember and prayed for you. As your Dad would say, that encounter at the gym was a “divine appointment,” God knew what, who, and when you needed. Thanks for sharing.
I saw depression in my grandfather, dad, uncle and aunt. I have always been determined not to let it get me. I'm honest with God and probably more open with my feelings than some would like. That's just me.
I remember every Christmas Dad would get depressed but I never knew why. Finally, just a few years before he died, I said to him that I saw he got depressed every Christmas and in my very non counselor way, I said "what's your problem?" They were very poor when he was being raised during the depression and living in Talbot County MD. Many of the kids Dad went to school with came from wealthy families. Each year when they came back to school from Christmas vacation, the teacher would ask what everyone got for Christmas. Many got nice toys and new bikes because their parents could afford them. Dad said he was doing well if he got a piece of fruit. So when the teacher asked him, he said he lied and told her all of the great things he got for Christmas. That had bothered him ever since.
After he told me that, I told him that he had always made sure I had a nice Christmas and he was way to blessed to be depressed about what happened sixty some years ago. That clicked with him. He was entirely different for the few remaining years he had left. No more sadness at Christmas. Depression is real. We all need to face it and deal with it when it raises it's ugly head. Thanks for writing this.