There are a lot of people writing about depression today and with good reason. It is unfortunate that the subject only gets discussed in the wake of tragedy.
Depression is something I don’t talk about much myself. I’ve been dancing with it for a long time and I don’t like discussing it anymore. I have analyzed it. I have shone the light on it. I know where it comes from and even why. I avoid it in my writing for the most part (entirely if we discount all the scores of terrible high school poems I wrote).
I’m not silent because I am ashamed of it. I don’t keep it to myself because I’m embarrassed by it. I will talk about it if the discussion comes up. I just don’t often feel that my enemy deserves to be noticed. My archenemy, my nemesis. My Jabberwocky. It’s big, fierce, and scary. It’s always just around the corner, lurking in the shadows, waiting to snatch me up in its biting jaws.
Unfortunately, I can’t bring my Jabberwocky down just by not believing in it. It will be there whether or not I believe. But I am armed with something better than disbelief – knowledge and understanding. Knowing where it comes from, understanding what it is that feeds that monster. Knowing that if the monster gets to big, there are people out there who are just a phone call or car ride away that can help.
(that movie version of the Jabberwocky seemed much scarier to me in 1985 and the remembered version is the one I’ve always pictured in my head when I’m having a rough day)
There are resources available but most of the people I know who battle depression don’t use them. I’m sure they all have their very valid, to them, reasons for that. I do too. But, I hope that if I were ever to be at a point where the Jabberwocky nipped a little too close, I’d be able to pick up the phone and make that call, talk to someone, commit myself, do whatever it took not to let the Jabberwocky win.