A Sound in the Darkness

Yesterday, the world lost an amazing soul. An individual who has brought so much joy, laughter, and understanding through their entire life.  Robin Williams lost his battle with depression and it took his life.

Now, much has been said and will be said any time any individual chooses to end their life.  There will always be remorse, confusion, and frustration (amongst countless other responses) by those the individual's life had touched - both directly and indirectly - as we all seek understanding in why things like this occur.

Depression is a real.

Yet we overlook it, we hide it, we avoid - or as my friend Rob rightly pointed out, we adapt in order to survive.  Even has I write that last sentence, I find myself attempting to distance myself from the reality of my own personal struggle with depression.  I overlook it, I hide it, I avoid it - I may not do these well to those close to me or who know me well but I do it to myself.

During one of my worst struggles, a friend recommended the book, A Grief Observed.  Written by C.S. Lewis as a way of processing through the death of his beloved wife, he dives into the depths of this loss and the tailspin that it caused him.  In my own personal experience with depression, his words in this book on grief, doubt, and misery have given language and hope - knowing someone at least understands the weight of what can't be seen or fully known by another. He writes:

Grief is like a long valley, a winding valley where any bend may reveal a totally new landscape. As I’ve already noted, not every bend does. Sometimes the surprise is the opposite one; you are presented with exactly the same sort of country you thought you had left behind miles ago. That is when you wonder whether the valley isn’t a circular trench. But it isn’t. There are partial recurrences, but the sequence doesn’t repeat.

Often this is where the outside world doesn't quite understand.  Depression doesn't just go away, it's not like the mending of the body.  My struggles, the darkness that entered my life are still very much with me - I can't forget the things that crossed my mind then.  Depression has left it's mark.  Lewis continues on saying:

Part of every misery is, so to speak, the misery’s shadow or reflection: the fact that you don’t merely suffer but have to keep on thinking about the fact that you suffer.

In the midst of the struggle of depression, our minds can become a cellar - an echo chamber of frustration and confusion. A place no one wants to remain and all of us who have experienced this desperately want out of.  We can often see and acknowledge it's absurdity, how much it is taking us away from the life we so wish to live, and how it effects those we care most deeply for.

So I offer no easy fix, no 'how-to', but rather to simply say, 'Me too'.  Lewis continued on, giving this analogy:

Imagine a man in total darkness. He thinks he is in a cellar or dungeon. Then there comes a sound. He thinks it might be a sound from far off—waves or wind-blown trees or cattle half a mile away. And if so, it proves he’s not in a cellar, but free, in the open air. Or it may be a much smaller sound close at hand—a chuckle of laughter. And if so, there is a friend just beside him in the dark. Either way, a good, good sound.

I don't know your struggle, and honestly anyone who says they completely understand it is lying.  But I'm here, in the dark, with you.

May we be people who stand in the dark with each other.

May we be people who ask the hard questions and truly seek to join with how another is doing.

May we be people who put down whatever it is in our hands and see each other.

Because we need you. I need you.