It doesn’t come in a sling. It doesn’t wear a bandage. It doesn’t use a crutch.
Perhaps, if it did any of those things, it would be more recognisable, more important, to those lucky people that don’t suffer from it.
But it doesn’t.
Depression is not a choice. It is not a state of mind to ‘get over.’ It is not something we can control. We would love to decide when it hits and when it doesn’t.
But we can’t.
Yesterday I told my boss that I have suffered from depression for 43 years. He wasn’t even born 43 years ago. He was brilliant. Supportive, helpful, compassionate. I wish everyone who suffers worked for as good an employer as I do.
But they don’t.
Please help. You can’t see depression. You can’t hear it. You can’t touch it. But, really, you can do all of those things.
You can see your friend’s moods, and how they change. You can hear your friend, and how their voice lowers, how their speech slows. And you can feel their tears, their emotions, how everything is right at the surface. You can touch their pain.
You can’t help us depressives.
Oh, but you can.