The day the lights went out...

I write this for those who are hurting. I write it for the lonely heart that walks through each day, a phantom, alone and in pain. I write it for the soul that is lost and may never be found. I write it for the shoulders so laden with life's burden that they bow with the weight, the bearer forced to crawl on bloodied knees. I write this for myself. I write this to remember.

It starts as such a tiny thing. Smaller than a pinprick and more subtle than the slightest breeze, but the moment it begins, it spreads. Much like a virus, it starts small. It infiltrates key pathways, commandeers once piece of you at a time. It spreads and infects and consumes, until eventually, you are rotting from within. No one can tell. No one can see. But you feel it, and you have no idea of the hellstorm that is coming to take you. In time, everyone can see it because it is reflected in your eyes, spoken with your words and seared on your heart like a brand. But it starts as such a small imperceptible thing. Depression. A wandering daemon that consumes man, woman and child, the young and the old, the strong and the weak. Depression.

I have thought of this many a night. Alone, in the dark, with nothing but the sounds of my own breathing to keep me company. How did it happen? When did I falter? Why did I slip? I can recall the first moments of the change. It was such a subtle shift in perspective, but looking back, it was so profound. Every day people greet one another in passing. They walk by each other on the street, in the office, at home or in the store. The passing is brief, and usually etiquette demands an exchange of, 'Hello, how are you?' The response is often the same, 'I am fine, and you?' I was no different. I greeted people, I asked the programmed question, and I listened to the token response. I think deep down we all feel that on some level people actually care what we say. I remember when I started to doubt. I remember saying, 'Fine, and you?' All the while thinking, 'This person doesn't really care what I say. I could respond, I feel terrible, and you? And they wouldn't miss a step in this pointless banter.' That was the beginning. The first tug on a shoestring pulling me towards a void I could not see.

Depression is such a subtle thing, and it comes at you from all directions at once. It attacks in tiny little bites. Optimism gives way to apathy. Confidence gives way to doubt. Activity yields to sloth, and with sloth you lose the ability to sleep. You are not active, so you have no need for food. You miss meals and your body weakens. The weaker your body, the less strength you have to return to activity, and so you continually cannot sleep. You lose focus with the lack of sleep. Your work suffers. Your friendships and relationships suffer. The world starts to turn. It's a slow rotation, but things are spinning. You just keep trying to maintain your balance, but you have no focus, no strength, no energy and most important of all, you have no time to look down at your feet. You don't see yourself sinking, drawn closer and closer to the abyss. You just keep trying to stand, but you can't make it past your knees.

There are always rays of light that shine through. A kind word, a loving hug, a child's laughter, puppies playing at the pet store...I recall being snapped into happiness for short periods of time. I would rush home to sleep, because my heart and mind were at peace. But depression is an ancient foe and it never rests. Sleep brought nightmares, and nightmares devoured the joy of the day in a sea of black. You are always helpless, hopeless and alone in these dark dreams, and when they have chewed you up, you wake weaker than ever.

People ask, 'When did you become depressed?' This is a very difficult question to answer. I think of depression as a black hole, and for those that know, time itself slows near the event horizon. When does one become depressed? It happens in a moment that can last forever. I remember seeing the light. I remember falling to my knees. I remember standing and looking to the light again. I don't remember the tug on the shoe string, I don't remember slowly sinking beneath the waves, I don't remember falling into that blackness. But I remember the day the lights went out...

Imagine standing alone in the darkest of rooms. All you can feel is rain and pressure. All you hear is a distant screaming. You want to help. You have to help that tortured person. By all that is good you must save them! You run and search in the dark trying to find help for that poor soul. Like a blood hound you dash to and fro, sniffing at the earth, seeking in the heavens. But you can't seem to find the source, and you can't escape the rain. You run until your legs can't carry you any further and then you stop. You listen...and you listen some more. Then you step outside yourself. You look down and the sudden horror closes in and crushes you. There is no rain, you are crying. No one can stop the rain...no one can stop your crying. The pressure is suffocating. The weight and burden of your life robbing you of air as wracking sobs tear through your body. And the wailing...the heart wrenching screams that your voice has become. You try to speak, but only whispers emerge, and they are drowned in a sea of tears, sobs and pain.

Time stops in this place. The world turns and time moves for everyone around you, but for those in the abyss there is no time. Everything is distorted. I remember seeing myself in a mirror. I had lost almost 20% of my body weight. I was unkempt and unshaven. I had not seen the light of day in a week. My eyes red from tears and lack of sleep. Claw marks raking my upper arms and cheeks from trying to claw my way out of my own skin. Looking in that mirror I did not see a man. I saw an abomination...a monster. It's a dreadful thing to lose your humanity. I tried to hold onto that pain, to recognize it, but it's impossible to pinpoint suffering when you are swimming in it. It simply is everything. Ask a man who swims in the middle of the ocean, 'Where is the ocean my friend?' The best he can do is to make a sweeping gesture with his hands and encompass all that is around him. So it is with pain in the depths of depression.

You become very much like an animal at that point. Either you lie down to die, or you bolt and fight to survive. Even in the abyss I retained that visceral need for survival. My stubborn defiance set me off at a sprint into the night. No path, no direction, I just started running. I would run, stumble, fall and cry. Then I would crawl. The crawl became a walk, and before long I was running again. This was a dangerous time for anyone near to me. As I said, the abyss distorts your senses. Friends look monstrous, the helping hand appears as a striking viper, and anyone that steps out to help guide your path you perceive as barring your escape and you lash out in blind aggression. I stumbled many times during my flight, but each time I would pull myself up with handfuls of dirt and suffering. Just as a literary hobbit found a ring to aid his escape from the darkness of a cavern, so did I find a tool that kept me moving forward in this mindless insanity, anger. As the ring was to gollum, so was anger to me. It held me in thrall and it consumed me. It was the most poignant thing I could find in a heart long vacant. I used to be a gentle soul. Kind, loving, carefree. Had I run before the midnight air took me, I would have thought, 'I need to keep moving. I must get away from here!' But with anger in hand, those thoughts changed. They became vicious and brutal, sundry and dark. 'I WILL BE FREE!!! NO MATTER THE COST!!!' No matter the cost....how many did I hurt during this time? What terrible things did I say? Whom did I neglect? I destroyed bridges to deter pursuit. I lashed out to prevent any from slowing my pace.

The abyss is not the universe. It is not endless. You do reach the edge of the darkness and think yourself free and therein is the true genius and evil of depression. You run, arms outstretched to the heavens and roar with triumph and delight. You are safe, you are free. Then the light hits you for the first time in what feels an eternity. It does not warm your face. It does not mend your soul. It burns. You have dwelled too long in the darkness, and your soul bears the marks of many sins committed during your escape. Standing at the steps of salvation in the glow of that very light you sought with such fervor the last vestige of hope leaves you. The light burns and sears you. You smolder and waste away and feel more alone now than you ever did in the caverns of despair.

This almost killed me. I almost killed me. I had no more tears. I had no more screams. I had no more anger to push me on. I was hollow and empty. A husk of a man. The walking dead. I don't know why I am here to be honest. But like fallow earth, I began to drink the tears of others. I soaked in their compassion, their caring, and the light of the day. Standing again is just as subtle as the initial steps into depression. I can recall time moving again. I can recall watching the passing of day into night, night into day, and marveling at its beauty. I can still see the faces of friends, standing across rivers and valleys. The bridges between us destroyed by my own hands, but they were there. They were waiting. I remember when words felt true again. I remember feeling warmth in a hug. I saw flowers, caught the scent of fresh cut grass and heard the laughter of children. I began to sleep. Nightmares faded and strength returned.

I will never know how, nor why I was given a second chance. But I sit here now, tears streaming unbidden down my cheeks, because I remember....I remember that last tug, that last gasp of air before the water closed over my head. I weep because I should. If ever you walk the path that I have walked, I will weep with you when you come forth once again into the light. I will cry with you because I know I will see that moment in your eyes. I will see that day that only the truly tortured and suffering have seen. I will see, and I will remember....the day the lights went out...