Depression can be an odd experience. When I’m feeling down, I crave relief, yet at the same time, there’s a part of me that resists the idea of feeling better. It’s like being wrapped in a filthy blanket. While it’s comforting and familiar, even if it carries scents of sweat and old snacks, I know I’d feel better if I could just wash it. But letting go of that blanket feels impossible because it makes me feel secure.
I’ve spent days ensnared in that filthy blanket. I don’t shy away from acknowledging that depression has had a grip on me at times, and unfortunately, I didn’t seek help. The people around me—those whom I care about—offered their assistance. They might not have directly asked, but through calls and messages, they tried to reach out. Instead of responding honestly, I either ignored them or replied that I was okay, because I wasn’t ready to accept their support.
There are moments when I deliberately choose to wallow in my misery. I resist help because there’s a strange comfort in my depression. Whether it’s right or not, I’m familiar with this state, much like an awful film I’ve watched repeatedly. I know its plot, its high points, and I expect the ending, all while understanding that this too shall pass. I recognize that my depression is not a permanent feature of my life, but a phase I need to endure.
This is why I push away assistance. I convince myself that I can manage on my own, and I don’t require anyone else. I have professionals like a therapist and a psychiatrist. At times, I might skip appointments simply because I dread confronting my inner self. Please don’t instruct me on self-care if I’m currently not inclined to pursue wellness.
I don’t want your help. Are you following? I’ve said I don’t want it. Please stop asking me or presuming that there’s something within me that requires fixing. Just because I’m feeling this way doesn’t indicate that I’m broken and in need of repair.
Yet, perhaps I do secretly desire support. Though I don’t express it aloud, it crosses my mind frequently. Identifying the type of help I need is challenging, and I need to ponder it. I recognize that I’m not a danger to myself or others—a standard question posed by health professionals. My answer is always no because I have no intent to harm.
What I am certain of is my eventual recovery. Just refrain from asking me what I require at this moment; my mind is too chaotic to remember right now. I’ll inform you when the negative thoughts about myself start to diminish. I appreciate your love and your patience and your willingness to assist me; however, I can’t pinpoint how you can help me right now.
At this moment, I simply want to focus on helping myself. That’s what is most important.
Sarah Fader is the founder and CEO of Eliezer Tristan Publishing Company, where her mission is to amplify the voices of authors who have faced and triumphed over trauma and mental health challenges. She also founded Stigma Fighters, a non-profit dedicated to encouraging individuals with mental health issues to share their stories. Sarah’s work has been featured in several reputable publications, including The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Atlantic, and Psychology Today. A proud New Yorker, Sarah enjoys naps, striking up conversations with strangers, and caring for her two young children and two average-sized cats. Sarah lives with Bipolar type II, OCD, ADHD, and PTSD, and through her work with Stigma Fighters, she aims to reshape perceptions of mental health, one stigma at a time.