Depressed? Well Here Is Some Motivation.

For those who need a heavy dose of motivation, are under the influence of a void or a ‘life trough’ and need some persuasion to get up and fight!

That’s the thing about depression: A human being can survive almost anything, as long as she sees the end in sight. But depression is so insidious, and it compounds daily, that it’s impossible to ever see the end.
That why we must fight….. 

If you know someone who’s depressed, please resolve never to ask them why. Depression isn’t a straightforward response to a bad situation; depression just is, like the weather.
Try to understand the blackness, lethargy, hopelessness, and loneliness they’re going through. Be there for them when they come through the other side. It’s hard to be a friend to someone who’s depressed, but it is one of the kindest, noblest, and best things you will ever do.
Be there for them show them you love them.

Listen to other people’s stories on how to cope with depression……. An take it one day at a time. 

Remember 

If You Know Someone in Crisis

Call the toll-free National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (NSPL) at 1-800-273-TALK (8255), 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. The service is available to everyone. The deaf and hard of hearing can contact the Lifeline via TTY at 1-800-799-4889. All calls are confidential. Contact social media outlets directly if you are concerned about a friend’s social media updates or dial 911 in an emergency.

My Husband Died by Suicide, but Died From Depression

By Marlin CollingwoodMay 25, 2016

Two years ago — May 5, 2014 — started as any Monday would start at our home in the suburbs of Boston. It was a beautiful, sunny New England spring morning.  
My husband Gary decided to sleep in a little later than usual and would come into the office before noon. This wasn’t unusual at all. Since he’d been struggling with depression, mornings were always hard and often he’d wake up with me, let our dogs out and go back to bed for an hour or two.  

I showered, got dressed for the office then lay on the bed with him for a few minutes and we talked about the week ahead and a trip I was making to New Hampshire the next day. 
I gave him a kiss and a hug, we both said “I love you” and I left for the office.
While I remember some of the details of my morning, I can only guess what the next couple of hours were like for Gary.
I didn’t know it at the time, but he had a plan in place and this was the morning he was finally going to put the plan into action.
Did he write the note after I left or did he write it weeks or months earlier and save it on his desktop?  
Did he take Harry and Torre (our beloved Welsh Corgis) to the park for a walk?   
Was he anxious? Frightened? Sad? Relieved?   
I will never know the details of those hours. All I know is the outcome.
When I couldn’t reach him on his cell phone later that morning, I decided to drive home, wake him up and bring him into the office with me. Again, this wasn’t that unusual and it had happened before. Sometimes the depression was best faced in bed. I knew that and respected that reality.

When you love someone living with depression you expect bad days, hard days, really bad days and OK days. I assumed this was just another bad day.
But this day would be a really, really bad day.
As I drove up our street I could see there was a note taped to our screen door and at that moment I knew my life would never be the same.
Marlin, I’ve taken my own life.

I don’t want you to find me.

I love you.

Gary

And with that the world turned upside down.

Molly was our pastor and Gary knew I would need her by my side to face what had happened.

I called 9-1-1 as he’d instructed me and the police came to the house, they went upstairs to our bedroom and confirmed Gary was dead.

At that moment I made the decision I was not going to hide how my beloved had died. While he died by suicide he also died from depression.
You see Gary was vocal about his disease and would tell anyone who asked how he’d been fighting depression for years. He made sure they understood it was an illness just as serious, real and unwanted as cancer, a heart attack or diabetes. It was not his fault and he did everything he was told to do to fight the disease. Anyone living with depression or loving someone living with depression recognizes this list: Medications, therapy, ECT, vitamins, yoga, exercise, DBT, meditation, good sleep hygiene — the list goes on and on.
Sometimes after trying a new medication or therapy there would be a day or two of a change in his mood or outlook, but eventually he’d quietly break the news to me it wasn’t working.

Often with tears in his eyes he’d say, “Honey the blackness is back… I’m so sorry” like it was his fault the depression wasn’t lifting.   
That’s part of the problem with the disease of depression.  
For those who are suffering from it, there is always a tinge of self-blame.   
That self-blame is kind of built in to our societal views of mental illness — in the back of most of our minds there is a belief the patient suffering must somehow be responsible for their own depression.
But as someone who cared for, lived with and eventually lost someone I love to this disease, I can say without any doubt that if Gary could have simply changed his outlook, pulled himself up by his bootstraps, counted his blessings or any of the other platitudes often thrown at those suffering from depression he would have done it.
In fact he did do all of those things and more.   
But the disease, just like the worst cancer, was stronger than any medicine, any therapy or any walk in the sunshine.   
His doctor came to the funeral where he hugged me and with his voice breaking said, “I’ve never had a patient that wanted to get better more than Gary did, I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to help him get over this disease.”
We need more research money, we need much more knowledge of the brain, mental illness and how best to treat it.  
We have to start treating mental illness as the public health crisis that it is; a disease just as lethal as heart failure, cancer, opioid addiction and obesity. We need to make changes in insurance reimbursement policies for mental illness.
We have to smash the stigma of depression and place the disease exactly where it belongs; one of the most debilitating and deadly that any of us could face at any time.
Gary wasn’t able to stick around one more day to see if it might be different. But today my message to anyone living with depression is just that: “Stick around one more day. This disease tends not to be permanent, there are solutions that can work, you are not a burden to anyone and no one will be better off if you’re dead. Stick around. One more day. Then one more, and keep going. You are loved.”
If you or someone you love is struggling with depression this message is for you – from me and from my sweet husband. 
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

1-800-273-8255

They can help prevent suicide. The Lifeline provides 24/7, free and confidential support for people in distress, prevention and crisis resources for you or your loved ones, and best practices for professionals.

We Need to Talk About Depression (So Why Not Start With Mine)

By Debora Miranda
We need to talk about depression. Why not start with mine?
For two years I couldn’t find the pleasure in doing one of the things that I enjoyed the most. I lost count of the times I put a pillow behind my back and made myself comfortable with a laptop on my lap, only to shut it down soon thereafter because I could barely write a sentence. I tried to write with new and old notebooks, with fancy pens. I tried in the evenings and in the mornings. I used candles and music. I tried at home and in cafés, while travelling or in random places. I even went on a winter retreat on an island to spend four days totally dedicated to writing.
Yet nothing would come out.
Nothing.
Every time I closed my notebook or shut down my laptop, I would curl up in the fetal position and close my eyes, tears coming out with no mercy. No matter how hard I tried to wipe out my emotions, they would always find a way to escape.
Today I know I spent two years facing blank pages because I was trying to let out a soul that my depression had emptied.
My depression was like getting stuck in traffic. I was there against my will. I was running out of fresh air. Everything was blurry. My thoughts and feelings were crossing and running around, and I didn’t even know if they were mine or someone else’s.
I would face my wardrobe, unable to decide what to wear. I would spend hours searching for entertaining things to do, only to become exhausted and eventually give up. I cried for no apparent reason.
There were intense psychosomatic episodes that brought me to the doctor – even to emergency services – with palpitations and numbness that I could locate in my body but not in my mind. There were so many weekends at home because it was so much easier to stay in than to go out and pretend.
And yet I gained some clarity from those situations. I saw my sadness, my emptiness, and my apathy. I felt the distress of not being able to articulate what was going on inside me, of not being understood, of feeling ungrateful and useless. I realized how all of that was wrapped up in a shiny paper called guilt, which only made everything worse.
I saw it all: tiredness, apathy, sadness, and emptiness.
I felt it all too, especially the guilt.
Thankfully, in the absence of my writings, I spent endless hours reading. In the midst of my struggle, I was pleased to find a “me too” world.
It was a global, virtual community.
Scientific articles explained to me that all of this was depression.
Strangers convinced me that I could get through this.
And guess what? They were right. I did.
I’m writing this because I can write again, and now I want to help others. To those who are reading this from the other side, please know that you can get through this. You can get past the exhaustion and the apathy and the sadness and the emptiness. You won’t have to live with the guilt forever.
You can get through this. You will get through this.
I know because I could and I did.
I am writing again. This is my proof. This is my evidence that this isn’t the end for you.
So if you are stuck in your own soul like I once was: You can do this.
You can get to a place where everything is OK.
Debora writes on mental illness and other stigmatized health conditions in English and Portuguese on mindthehealth.org.