Last week, in what I assume was an attempt to comment on the death of Cory Monteith, a woman I know commented on Facebook that the only deaths we should mourn are the unpreventable ones like murder, illness, and the like. That's right. She feels that those who die from a drug overdose, suicide, or anything that she's decided is preventable should not be mourned. Not by their families, friends, co-workers or anyone else. Because it was their choice to die.
It took every ounce of self-control I have not to tell her how I really feel. Because how dare she state that people like my next-door neighbor–a father, former public school teacher, and Afghan war vet who killed himself 2 months ago–do not deserve to be mourned. Or the middle and high school kids who can no longer stand the incessant bullying and can't see it ever getting better so they commit suicide. Or the addicts who are so deep into their addiction that their last high kills them.
They do deserve to be mourned. They deserve to be mourned because they lived. They deserve to be mourned because they were loved. They deserve to be mourned because mental illness and addiction are horrible diseases that, when you're in the throes, have such a stranglehold you begin to feel like a hostage. They deserve to be mourned because often, the problem is so deep and the affected suffers in silence because they just don't feel like anyone will understand. They deserve to be mourned because, as a society, we're so quick to dismiss mental illness. Particularly depression.
Don't believe me? Here's a smattering of what I was told when I was in the thick of mine:
“You need to learn to live with it and get back to work.”
“You can be happy if you really want to.”
“Everyone has depression. You're not any different.”
“You can get up and out of bed every day. It must not be that bad.”
“I known exactly how you feel.”
Some of those were said to me by medical professionals. I'll let you decide which ones. And because medical professionals have this attitude towards depression and other mental illnesses, it's no wonder so many people go untreated (those who are medicated or over-medicated or self-diagnosed or whatever is a totally separate discussion).
It doesn't help that well meaning “experts” and bloggers have permeated our culture with self-help books and blog posts and inspirational quotes telling us that depression really is just something we can cure if we want to. These individuals make us feel like it's a character flaw; that we're deficient in self-esteem or have some other weakness that causes depression. It's somehow our fault that we feel this way.
Bull shit. No one asks to be depressed–and I'm not just talking blue, I'm talking depressed (and to the lady shopping at The Body Shop who professed that she was depressed over the fact that the mall has a Cheesecake Factory and she had eaten elsewhere, I want to say, to paraphrase Fat Amy, not a good enough reason to use “depressed”)–because it. Is. The. Worst. It sucks to cry for no reason. It sucks to have zero motivation for anything. It sucks to feel unloved. It sucks to stop enjoying everything you once did. It sucks to be unable to laugh or feel most emotion except excessive sadness. It sucks to live in your own head, listening to the chorus of voices telling you that you don't matter (I've written before about what my depression looks like. Please read it if you have a chance).
And that? Is not easy to just “get over”. Because if it were, I, and so many others, would do just that. We'd put all the horrifying feelings and misery behind us and move on. We'd magically smile and laugh and start loving life again. It'd be easy to take a shower or walk the dog or go to work or do anything that's not sit on a couch or curl up in our beds, blocking out everything. Please realize this–even if a depressed person is engaging in those activities, it's exhausting for us. It takes every ounce of strength to feign acting normal and, when that's over, we're back in our pajamas, in the same corner on the couch. Because we don't know what else to do.
Depression isn't a choice. Who would choose to live in a perpetual state of numbness and sadness? No, depression is a disease. It's a chemical imbalance. And it's fucking torture. And it breaks my heart that so many people are suffering from this personal hell and the only escape they feel they have is suicide.
So to the Facebook woman, I say this–fuck you. If you don't want to mourn a celebrity who died of an overdose, then don't. But to say that anyone who dies from a reason you deem unacceptable doesn't deserve to be mourned shows what a compassionless asshole you actually are. And I hope you never know what it's like to have or love someone who has a mental illness or addiction. Because I can't imagine what you'd say then.
What a terrible thing for her to say!!!!!! Having suffered from Depression for 7 years, I can identify with you. It’s absolutely horrible to spend your days trying not to kill yourself (or not to take drugs) when the urge is so incredibly overwhelming. This woman obviously has no idea what she’s talking about and her comment should be buried in the mud forever. Get some common sense, will ya, lady???
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This woman says a lot of stupid things and it makes me sad. But something like this is dangerous because it contributes to the problem of keeping depression or addiction a secret. Who wants to be honest to someone who openly feels such contempt towards a disease people can’t control?
This woman needs to be educated on depression and addictions. Please pray for her and her family. She is ignorant and should be pitied. She does not know that God created us and hopefully lets our families create a safe haven for us when we need it. Sometimes we are fortunate to have a safe haven and sometimes we are not. I have my own addictions – chocolate, spending, credit cards and I have lived thru others’ addictions – alcoholism, nicotine, caffeine and spending, sugar, debting. What does not killed us, makes us stronger. I know where to go for help. “God”. My higher power. May she find him because she will lose one thru death-husband, child, parent, grandparent, friend, a pet. We are human. We are not perfect. The young man’s family and friends are grieving now. May they find peace.
Good points! Thanks for your input.
Different angle: I don’t understand mourning celebrities in general. They didn’t come to my birthday party, I never spent an evening with them plotting a worldwide coup over beers. They aren’t a part of my life and won’t be leaving a hole.
Am I a dick?
Nope. Not at all. I don’t understand it either. Especially the people that freak out like their grandmother died. It makes zero sense to me.
I love this on so many levels. I have so many comments running through my mind right now but what all that really needs to be said is THANK YOU. Thank you for your courage to write about this topic so complete honesty and shedding a light on what the real struggle with depression looks like.
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Not a problem. It’s not something I am ashamed of and the more people talk about it honestly and openly, the less of a stigma it becomes.
Depression is a mental illness, just like a broken bone is a physical illness. You don’t chose to have depression any more than you chose to have a broken bone. People are so ignorant.
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Exactly! Though with this woman’s train of thought, you wouldn’t treat the broken bone unless it was caused by an accident. And sadly, this is just one in a long line of ignorant comments.
I agree. I’m dealing with some of that attitude towards depression right now, as I am on short term disability for depression. I even think some of these things myself (even though I know they’re not true–how cruel depression is).
I went on short term disability for my depression as well. So I understand.
Yes, depression is a lying asshole. It says some of the most horrible, cruel things that it convinces you are true, even if they’re not. It’s hard to live with that noise in your head everyday.
It’s hard when people don’t understand. My husband doesn’t understand my depression at all. he doesn’t understand my need to sometimes talk about it, sometimes write about it, and sometimes just cry about it. I get frustrated too, with people who don’t understand and say stuff like that (my husband doesn’t say stuff like that, he just doesn’t get it).
Lucky them, that they can think it’s as easy as “getting over it.”
My husband had a hard time understanding mine as well. But I brought him to a therapy session and gave him some book titles (I wish I could remember them) and that seemed to help a little.