Interlude: An Important Definition:
As I write this we are in the middle of Mental Illness Awareness month here in Canada, a period devoted to presenting to the public the facts of life regarding mental diseases. The project hopes to eliminate, or at least mitigate, the stigma attached to mental illness and to foster understanding, possibly some measure of sympathy for the devastation caused by these illnesses on those of us who suffer from them.
Having been big-D Depressive for most of my life these efforts are of great interest to me. The project includes a TV spot in which an off-camera voice asks the question: “Where does Depression hurt?” and gives the whispered reply “Everywhere.” Then “Who does Depression hurt?” with the answer “Everyone.” I like this ad. It is realistic and true. It has been shown many times over the last few weeks. So can I now expect that people I meet casually in my everyday wanderings will have some new, deeper understanding of the hell to which my illness periodically subjects me? A little sympathy, perhaps?
Probably not. And one of the reasons for my low expectations, a very basic reason, lies at the very root of the condition; its name. My dictionary says:
Depression: (n)
1. A feeling of being extremely unhappy.
(Many children show signs of anxiety and depression after a divorce in the family.)
2. To suffer from depression.
(She suffered from depression after the death of her husband.)
My Depression is not defined by unhappiness. Well, not only unhappiness, though this is certainly part of it. I have been sad and I have been Depressed. There is a world of difference.
Unhappiness is what you get when your pet dies, when you get passed over for a promotion or your girlfriend goes off with another man. Realistically I don’t ever expect to meet a person who has never suffered sadness and most people, I think, accept that being occasionally unhappy is a part of living. There are those who believe that sadness is an important part of life, one which makes us spiritually stronger by experiencing it.
Depression, on the other hand, sometimes plunges me into a deep black pit of pain and despair; or it can drive me into a destructive rage in which not even my most deeply loved ones are safe. Do you see now why I expect (and receive) little or no sympathy from those unclear about the basic difference between Depression and simple unhappiness?
Me: “I’m Depressed:”
Them: “What the hell have you got to be depressed about? You have a good job, no money problems, a happy marriage, robust health and great kids! You’ve no right to be depressed!”
Me: “No, I mean I am really Depressed.”
Them: “Well for Heaven’s sake snap out of it.”
I wish the people behind these ads the best of luck. I hope that they succeed in teaching the difference between depression and Depression. I hope that in my lifetime I may see the end of the stigma which haunts those of us who suffer this terrible, destructive mental disorder.
But I’m not holding my breath.