After Losing a Beloved Comedian, Unpacking the Deceit of Depression

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By: Emily Hart
Updated: Aug. 3, 2016
Originally Published: Aug. 14, 2015

I often feel like a fraud when I talk about my… well, my depression. It’s a word that feels strange to say, especially when it pertains to me. I don’t fit the typical image of someone who’s grappling with it, which may be why I feel driven to share my experience. I know there must be others who, like me, recognize that something is amiss but are paralyzed by the ability to “fake it.”

In my mind, depression was always associated with lying in bed, tears streaming down one’s face, completely helpless. But that’s not the whole story, is it? You can be battling depression and still go through the motions of daily life. You can check off all your responsibilities, albeit maybe a little slower and with less focus, while hiding your true feelings from everyone around you. Inside, however, it feels like you’re just an undefined mass, floating aimlessly.

For me, the struggle began just before the tragic passing of a beloved comedian. I have always been a bit anxious, but something shifted last year and everything unraveled. My thoughts became frenetic, my dreams turned chaotic, and I couldn’t stop my hands from trembling. Instead of reaching out for help, I retreated inward, hoping the fog would lift on its own.

That’s when the lies started creeping in. “Depression lies,” you’ve probably heard that phrase. My thoughts spiraled down into a dark pit filled with falsehoods: “I’m annoying.” “I’m unlovable.” “I’m not funny.” “I’m overweight.” “I’m unattractive.” “I’m foolish.” “I’m worthless.” “I don’t deserve my life.” “People who are nice to me are just pretending.” “I despise myself.”

Even when those nasty voices were screaming in my head, I had moments of clarity: You recognize there’s a problem. You know these thoughts aren’t rational. That should have brought me back to reality, right? But instead, it only highlighted the internal battle, convincing me that those hateful thoughts were the truth.

Eventually, a new lie settled in: Life will always be like this. That one was terrifying.

To an outside observer, I seemed fine. I kept up with my daily tasks, got out of bed each morning, cared for my kids, cooked meals, did laundry, and even managed to smile. I was a master of disguise, expertly performing the role of a normal person while feeling like a zombie inside.

There were subtle signs, though. My family noticed when my calls became less frequent. Friends might have realized that we hung out less often. My partner would occasionally look at me with concern and ask, “Are you okay? You seem a bit down.” My kids even mentioned more than once that I looked like I was in “another world.”

During that time, I sometimes found myself transfixed by the kitchen knife while preparing dinner, imagining how one swift motion could dull the emotional pain I felt. But even in those dark moments, I knew that if I acted on those thoughts, it would only lead to more pain for my loved ones and me.

I’ve never thought about ending my life. I’ve never been bedridden for days or relied on medication. For a long time, the absence of these obvious signs made me believe I couldn’t claim the term “depression.” I thought something else must be wrong, and not being able to identify my feelings only added to the confusion.

However, even without suicidal thoughts, I can understand how someone could reach that point. I get it because of that overwhelming lie: Life will always be like this.

Not too long ago, a friend in a Facebook group opened up about her own depression, receiving a wave of support. I took note of it. A few weeks later, I stumbled upon an article about depression and realized I could relate to nearly every symptom listed.

Then one day, in a private Facebook group, I wrote something I never thought I would: “I have forgotten how to feel happy.” Before I could take it back, another member urged me to seek help immediately. It took me some time, but eventually, I opened up to others about how I felt and sought the support I desperately needed. I’m still in the early stages of understanding my anxiety, triggers, and past trauma. It’s going to be a journey, but I can honestly say I feel a flicker of hope again, and it’s exhilarating. Working with a therapist has been incredibly beneficial.

Yet, as I share this, I still grapple with the feeling that by acknowledging my depression without medication, I’m somehow being dishonest. I hesitate to share my truth for fear of being labeled a fraud.

This brings us back to the lies of depression. The news about that beloved comedian’s suicide hit me hard because I understand how someone can sink into the belief that life will always be this way, leading them to consider the unthinkable.

But here’s the truth: NO. That’s a lie. If you see any part of yourself in my words, know that those negative thoughts in your head are not the truth. Please, talk to someone. Life does NOT have to remain like this. There is hope and help available, but you have to take the courageous step to reach out and ask for it.

For additional resources, check out this excellent article from Kindbody about mental health and support. And if you’re interested in boosting your fertility journey, Make a Mom offers great insights on supplements to consider.

In the spirit of sharing and healing, let’s continue to lift each other up and break down the stigma surrounding mental health.

Summary:

In this heartfelt reflection, Emily Hart opens up about her struggles with depression, which often goes unnoticed by those around her. She explores the pervasive lies that can accompany mental health issues, emphasizing that depression doesn’t always look like what we expect. By sharing her journey, she encourages others to seek help and reminds them that hope is possible.