Depression lurks in unscheduled time alone

No work, chores done, now what?

When I lived in Pacifica, California after my divorce, I was fine during the week. I worked as a reporter/editor at the local newspaper, and the never-ending deadlines usually kept me out of the depression swamp. Weekends were another story. After I had done my laundry, cleaned my small space, and walked on the forever-foggy beach, I thought: Now what? 

Open time on my own is dangerous for me. I’m pretty good at entertaining myself. Most of the time, I’m overjoyed to be able to do anything I want without worrying about anyone else, but those free days also make it easy for depression to sneak in and nail me to my chair. Back in Pacifica, this led to:

• Dating men who were not good to me just so I wouldn’t be alone. 

• Drinking alone until I was too tipsy to care.

• Baking and eating an entire chocolate cake frosted with Cool Whip. 

I had never expected to be alone. Married at 22 (on June 22), just two weeks after I graduated from college, I moved from my parents’ house to the apartment I shared with my new husband. I had visions of a sweet domestic life full of love, babies, and books. I’d be a happy mother/writer. White picket fence and all. 

Well . . . my first husband was a good guy. I loved him. But neither of us was really ready for marriage. We used to laugh about how different we were from each other. Until it wasn’t funny. Until we went broke. Until it became clear he would never want to have children. Until he cheated. 

So, I ended up alone. Still broke. Working my tush off yet not able to pay all my bills. Playing music on the side. Enjoying my sliver of ocean view when the fog lifted enough to see it. 

And dating. The guy I was with the longest made me feel small and worthless. After he dumped me, depression moved in to stay. When it got so bad I couldn’t go to work, I called for an appointment with my HMO. This was in the days before you could make appointments online, when you waited an hour to talk to a human being. The woman who answered told me nothing was available for months. But I feel awful right now, I protested. She was sorry about that. 

I had to get back to work. I had interviews to do, deadlines to meet. I was the reporter whose photo was in the paper every week at the top of my column. I had to show up and smile as if I felt fine.

The depression got worse. I couldn’t wait for that distant psych appointment. Using my reporter skills to find other options, I called the county mental health department and got an appointment just a few days from then. I didn’t even have to pay them right away if I couldn’t afford it.

The minute I was able to talk to someone who listened sympathetically, I started healing. I needed an impartial party to tell me that man was not good to me, I was not a bad person, and I would be okay.

I have been in therapy several times since then. Around the time I was dealing with the realization that I would never have children, I saw a counselor in San Jose. He wasn’t great. He sent me to a codependency 12-step group that felt totally wrong. But he was someone to talk to.

After my mother died, I sought help again. That led to the therapists who guided me through the years of my husband’s Alzheimer's and my own depression and anxiety. They put me on antidepressants, something I resisted for a long time. I don’t enjoy taking those pills, but they help. Depression is as much chemical as it is circumstantial. There’s no shame in it, not any more than the cholesterol and thyroid pills I also take every day.

I call my depression The Swamp. Another reader calls it The Hole, and another uses Winston Churchill’s Black Dog.  Whatever we call it, that feeling that everything is shit and nothing is worth doing is real. Sometimes it’s triggered by an event or something someone says. Sometimes it just comes, like the rain, and you don’t know why.

Does depression come more often when you’re alone? Maybe, especially when it’s wrapped in grief about how you came to be alone, through divorce, death of a partner, loss of a job, lack of funds, or any life change you didn’t choose. 

One can certainly experience depression with other people around. Have you ever walked through a crowd fighting tears? I have. 

But when we’re alone, we don’t have anyone to keep us from self-destructive behavior, whether it’s playing video games all day, eating an entire chocolate cake, drinking ourselves numb, hooking up with people who are not good for us, or ending our lives.

In the movies, the lead characters always seem to have these wise best friends to give advice and save them from themselves. In reality, many of us are alone. Nobody’s knocking on our door or calling to see if we’re okay. Nobody is there to keep us company if we want to go out for a meal, a show, or a hike.

Friends can’t talk you out of The Swamp. But they can help you find a reason to swim out on your own. 

It is nearly impossible to reach out when you’re stuck in depression. But do it if you can. If unscheduled time is a trap for you, schedule something. Make plans, perhaps plans you can’t drop at the last minute because they involve a commitment to another person or because you paid money for a ticket. It helps.

I was lucky to meet and marry a wonderful man five years after my divorce. His death 26 years later left me alone again. I still deal with depression, but I mostly make better choices now. I allow myself to have an off day, soothe myself with walks, books, movies and nature, and then I move on. I accept that I have had much to grieve in my life, but I have also had many blessings. It’s okay to feel less than happy for a while.

Many people responded to my last post about depression. Clearly, we need to talk more about these things. (I will change to a lighter subject next time for those who are weary of depression talk)

What do you think? Is it dangerous to mix depression and living alone? Is it easier when you’re busy? What do you do when you’re in that dark place?  Would it be better if other people were around?

As I said last week, I am not a mental health professional. Please seek help if you’re afraid you might harm yourself. Call the Suicide and Crisis hotline at 988 or visit the Mental Health Hotline https://mentalhealthhotline.org/depression-hotline/, (866) 903-3787

(Photo by Adnan Virk, Unsplash.com)

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How did I end up alone? I didn’t have any kids. After my husband and I retired to the Oregon coast, far from family, he died of Alzheimer’s. You can read our story in my forthcoming memoir, No Way Out of This: Loving a Partner with Alzheimer’s, coming out THIS TUESDAY. Preorder the book at your favorite bookseller. Visit https://www.suelick.com for information on all of my books.