By: Jamie Ellis
Updated: Jan. 12, 2021
Originally Published: Jan. 12, 2021
Trigger warning: suicide
February 27, 2019
I feel utterly unwell. My head is pounding, and I have no desire to eat the shrimp pasta that my partner prepared for dinner. I’ve teetered on the edge of tears all day. When I picked up my six-year-old from school, he asked if he could create a bomb out of LEGO. I patiently explained why he shouldn’t make anything that resembles a bomb. Frustrated, he shot back, “You’re not me! I can name it whatever I want!”
Depression shows up in various ways for different individuals. For me, it feels like being pinned down by an immense weight that I can’t escape, no matter how hard I try. Darkness envelops me, and it’s challenging to see beyond it. My face becomes a blank slate; I want to cry but can’t. It’s like when doctors use a tongue depressor to hold down your tongue, making it impossible to speak. That’s how depression feels. I feel paralyzed. I’m not truly me.
All I desire is to curl up in bed, fall asleep, and never wake up. My mind drifts to various means of escape. I consider sharp objects, veering my car off the road, stepping into traffic, or pills. I’ve attempted that before. But then I think of my sweet child and how he would cope without me, which brings me back to reality.
With bipolar disorder, the onset of depression can be unpredictable. Seasonal changes often trigger it, but winter is particularly tough. I yearn for the warmth of summer, those days filled with energy and creativity, working towards something meaningful. I cherish those moments, aware they won’t last. What rises must also fall.
Through it all, I find solace in music.
I subscribe to Maria Popova’s Brain Pickings newsletters, which are filled with inspiring quotes and insights from brilliant minds. One newsletter shared Dr. Oliver Sacks’ account of how music helped him through a life-altering experience.
“I felt, with the first notes of the music, a glimmer of hope that life would return to my leg. The sense of despair began to lift, replaced by a feeling of renewal.”
When depression engulfs me, I need to channel my inner child and declare, “You’re not me! I can name it whatever I want!” I have to unleash the power of music within me to obliterate the darkness. I want to explode into light and spark, to sing again and revive the notes on the page until the music elevates me from despair.
I follow writer Clara James on Twitter, who once posed a question: “You have five minutes before the world ends, and you can listen to anything. What would it be?” I didn’t hesitate. Ever since my teenage years, the song that resonates with me is “Tear in Your Hand” by Tori Amos. Tonight, I’ll dim the lights, close my eyes, and let the music wash over me. It’s all I can do right now.
January 5, 2021
It’s winter again. We’re still in a pandemic, and darkness falls by 5 PM. Last night, my child randomly asked my partner to make shrimp pasta for dinner, even though he refuses to eat shrimp now. I stayed silent; after all, cooking isn’t my responsibility. How can I voice how the aroma of lemon, butter, garlic, and seafood brings back memories?
This Christmas, I treated myself to a weighted blanket, which offers a different kind of comfort than the weight of depression. I realized I needed it when I started getting up early and cleaning as if I were on a cleaning spree. Also, since Christmas, my son has gathered enough LEGO pieces to create the world’s biggest LEGO bomb, which has exploded all over our living room floor. Those tiny pieces might just drive me to my wit’s end.
Yesterday, I had a Zoom session with my psychiatrist. She encouraged me to ride the wave of my current high energy and reminded me that I know how to navigate these ups and downs. I told her I’m aware I’ll be okay because I often live under that metaphorical tongue depressor. I will survive.
For now, I’ll stay in my makeshift home office as long as I can. I’ll listen to a new song my coworker suggested, “What I Needed” by Dark Dark Dark. I’ll embrace all the emotions. Soon, my partner will send our son to fetch me for dinner. It’s Taco Tuesday, and I take a deep breath. I must be present. That’s all I can do.
If you or someone you know needs support, please visit the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, the SAMHSA National Helpline, or reach out to the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741.