A Beacon

The first time I encountered depression, it was a knock out punch. My second son was still a baby, and my wife (S) was working hard while taking care of both him and our toddler. Meanwhile, I couldn’t get out of bed. I felt this hollow, brutal ache as if my sadness had eaten itself, imploded and become a black hole in my chest that would swallow any reason, any hope, any suggestions for help. The black hole swallowed everything thrown at it, and grew larger, deeper, heavier. I would think, “Maybe I can get help.” The black hole would devour the idea and grow. “I should get out of bed.” The black hole grew. I felt guilty that I couldn’t help S. Shouldn’t guilt motivate me to get up and get to work? The black hole grew, and I sank. 

I don’t know exactly when or how it ended. I do know that I started writing music again, and that helped tremendously. I don’t remember getting out of bed one day and being better, but I guess somehow I was. Only not completely. I don’t remember ever being particularly unhappy or depressive before that episode, but the black hole seems to have left scars. It’s almost like the thing detached itself in the middle of the night and flew off, leaving behind black, tarry tindrels in my brain that it can remotely activate whenever it wants. Normally it’s mild, and only lasts a few days, and thankfully, I’ve never had an experience as bad as that first time. 

Several years and one kid later, I was having another episode. As I mentioned, it wasn’t nearly as bad as the first time, but it was feeling like it wanted to go that way. I was starting to have trouble getting out of bed again. I was starting to withdraw, having trouble even speaking. One night I was lying in bed in this state, while S sat next to me watching a movie on her laptop. She had headphones on, so I couldn’t hear the movie, and I was turned away from her, so I wasn’t seeing it either. My world was the dark. 

Until she laughed. 

And then shortly, she laughed again.

Quiet…

…until another.

Her laughter was like a beacon calling me out of the darkness of a deep sea. 

Like, you’re not supposed to be able to escape the gravity of a black hole, but this sound somehow called me out of it. I couldn’t resist it. I could feel the thing trying to devour it and grow, but it couldn’t. It shrank away with every laugh. I even smiled slightly to myself right there in bed. I think I was on my feet the next day, not completely back, but well on my way.

I don’t know a lot about these kinds of things, but if you resonate with any of the darkness that I’m writing about, you should not follow my example. I didn’t get professional help. You probably should. If this ever happens to me again, I certainly will. That being said, my hope is that in dark times like these, you’ll find a beacon to call you to the light.

Don’t give up. It’s there. I know it’s hard to hear over the roaring silence of the black hole. But keep listening. 

Hang in there,

J