Oh Captain My Captain. For My Friend Taken by Depression

I want to talk about depression. On its silent presence in our lives. Barely acknowledged by society. Masked by accomplishments. Sleeping quietly with those who can no longer suffer its whispers. I want to talk about how depression took away my friend, who was young, talented, and seemingly full of life. I want us to talk about the pain that he suffered that ultimately led to his death. I want us to find a way to help those who are suffering silently, but feel the need to put on a cheerful front until they finally cannot anymore. 

Today, I attended my friend’s memorial service, held in the beautiful gardens of the Morton Arboretum. Beneath the drooping canopy of the trees sat a table, upon which a box of his ashes rested amongst flowers. A silver framed picture of him looking into the distance stood next to the flowers. He seemed wistful in the picture, so far away from all of us now that he has traveled back into the great beyond. He was 38, and had taken his own life after a recent bout of depression. The garden filled quietly with friends and family, too many to fit into the chairs, standing and murmuring softly amongst each other about his life. He was an artist, a cyclist, a friend, an uncle, a brother, and a kind human being who left this world too young. His death shook us to the core, and left with us the bitter knowledge that love alone could not save him from his depression, for depression cares not about good intentions.

For me, depression has been a faithful companion since early childhood. I was only 5 or 6 years old when I had first felt its presence, telling me to throw myself off of the balcony because I was worthless. I never told anyone about this, and hid my sadness throughout my childhood, channeling my grief into art, school, and relationships. But the sadness did not go away, and it accompanied me into adolescence and adulthood. I learned to become a high functioning depressive – responsible and dependable on the outside, secretly dying on the inside. At times, the depression lifts, and I am able to feel momentary peace and serenity. But then it returns, and I am debilitated by its influence. Outside of work, my depression often causes me to feel too tired to do much else. The things that I love to do, such as art, wait by the wayside while I swim sluggishly through my depression.

Through therapy, I have learned the importance of self-care in my constant battle against depression. I work out. I eat right. I see my friends. I make time to relax. I do art when I can without putting too much pressure on myself. But the struggle is constant, and relapse is always imminent. After a serious episode in my early twenties, I had vowed to never again let depression cripple me. But like all chronic illnesses, it can return without warning, and slowly creep up on me. I would describe its influence as being like the Dementors in the Harry Potters series, only invisible. You don’t even realize you are losing all of your life energy until you are already drained of all happiness and left an empty shell.

Yet despite all of the suffering I’ve endured, and all of the work I’ve done to battle my depression, I often feel guilty for being depressed. I feel that I am undeserving of help, and that self-care is more like self-indulgence, that someone with as many privileges as I have should simply toughen up and stop my self-pity. But this very train of thought is often what leads to suicide for those who are depressed. The pain of living with such guilt and anxiety becomes overwhelming, and the only solution becomes the quietude of death. Even though it seems absurd to outside observers, a depressed person’s choice of suicide is often, in their current state of mind, the most logical option. By dying, they are sparing their loved ones the pain of seeing them suffer. By taking their own life, they are no longer a burden upon their friends, who they believe have been too kind to let them know that they were tired of hearing them complain. In ending their life, they could preserve a little bit of themselves before their complete decline into sorrow and madness. These are all logical reasons to a suicidal depressive, and often the motivation for their death.

I know that my friend fought a long and hard battle with his depression. In the end, he had to go, even though we weren’t prepared for him to leave. He stayed as long as he possibly could, and I admire his courage and perseverance. I hope that he has found peace where he has gone, and that someday we will meet again. While I am still here on this Earth, I hope that I can help make this battle against depression a little less lonely for other people, and let them know that the future can hold happiness and change. I hope my message will help them reach out for support, and find that it is possible to keep on living a full life, even with their depression.

Goodbye Peter. We love you, and we will see you soon.


Here are some good resources on depression and suicide prevention:

https://afsp.org/find-support/resources/
http://www.adaa.org/understanding-anxiety/depression
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/lea-lane/suicide-prevention_b_3320732.html