Depression has been my Middle Name throughout much of my Adult Life. Fortunately — since 2017 — I’ve not felt it coming into my being — beyond odd moments — which have left me relatively soon thereafter.
I’m no expert about what depression is, what causes it, or most anything else about it — beyond how it has affected me and how wonderful it has been to not have to struggle with it recently.
Depression for me has always been a painful aloneness — when I’ve questioned much of my value — and been thoroughly uncomfortable. While I’ve never been, nor felt suicidal when depressed, I have questioned — whether life is valuable or potentially good during the worst of my depressions.
My first conscious memories of depression are at age 18, when away starting my regular university study. During my childhood, undoubtedly, I was also depressed for significant period of time. Life as a child was lonely. Having insecure attachment with my parents — and feeling — Alone — without emotional support certainly helped me beginning — of Depression.
When away at college — I lived for months on end — alternating my days — between — being among other people — trying to fit in (and failing miserably), and staying alone — apart — not trying to be with anyone beyond what I absolutely had to.
I remember — sitting alone in Gordon Commons, the dining hall for the SouthEast Dorms at the University of Wisconsin, Madison. A fellow first year student, who I’d seen previously, sat down at my table. I didn’t say a word to her, nor she to me. I was a little freaked out several months later, when I learned that she’d recently married an older student, she’d evidently met after we were “together” — they obviously not having been in relationship for more than a few weeks, at best.
The Aloneness — had been a key part of my life in general, most noticeable — when I was significantly depressed.
Another — part — piece — related to my depression has been living in my head — in a world of “rationality” — with no spirit or heart — tied with being in a huge hurry — always, not being capable of “being with(in) myself”.
I remember — when traveling in New England just prior to the beginning of my second Men’s Conference. A man, who unfortunately has since passed away, tried to build at least minimal connection, chatting over tea at his house. I thought then that it was…