MyBook IS here!
If you have never been depressed, suicide is just news you process with either disdain, indifference, or temporary sympathy. I often see a smirk before someone will remark, “He had everything. What he did was cowardly.” Another person will join in: “Depression is a luxury. Why should you indulge in it? Suicide is inevitable if you allow negative thoughts to plague you.”
When I am in the company of people who don’t understand how to live with mental illness, I want to say something meaningful. I want to say something that will change the course of the conversation, not necessarily towards empathy but towards acceptance. The trouble is, everyone is looking for the sound-byte. A sentence fragment, designed much like a one hundred and forty character tweet, to pique audience interest. I have, however, come to realize that depression is like an amoeba. It is shape-shifting and refuses to fit into any box, much less a dialog clipped and cropped to suit the limited attention span of an ignorant and self-centered recipient.
Friends who know me well are going to ask: “Why are you writing this now?” My Facebook and Instagram feeds are filled with posts encouraging people to seek help and talk about their fears and insecurities. There is an explosion of writing about living silently with depression that leaves me deeply disconcerted. Despite my effort to keep a steadily growing cynicism in check, an overwhelming thought takes a seat in my mind: the hashtags #depression and #suicideprevention will only trend till the next big issue takes center stage.
I write this piece to give a voice to those who suffer in private. I write so that you may recognize the acute mental trauma experienced by someone who is depressed. You read a lot of articles likening depression to darkness. Darkness is quite simply not quantifiable. I write mostly to shed light on the often used, indescriptive, unhelpful term “darkness.”
I find it challenging to accept the new conjugation. It’s a life change to go from “My book will be published soon” to “My book is here now.” It’s a curious feeling to let an honest exposition of your mind out into the world. I wonder how you, the reader, will converse with my writing. I wonder how you will reflect on episodes in your life as you read through the chapters. It’s incredible to me that it’s no longer simply my story; it’s now ours. Will you open up with whomever you trust after reading my book?
You can find it here:
