A writer I know and work with has been going through a really tough stretch of depression. Yesterday his brother killed himself, which raised that depression to another level. I know he’s a fighter and I know he is not going to end himself. Still, I feel for the intense pain he is going through. It makes me extremely grateful for the life I am blessed to live and the day to day job I get to enjoy. What he is dealing with–especially now–is difficult. I know because I live right on the edge of that depression every day. I am a very emotional person; an empathic person who is easily overwhelmed by the sadness of those closest to me. Lately it has been a lot of darkness close to me. Part of me feels that darkness is a writer’s friend and we dip our toes in to the deep waters of human pain and draw out understanding.
But occasionally we fall in.
I’ve been learning to use words to buoy myself my entire life. I’ve kept things deep down inside and drawn out the connections slowly as to not drown in myself. I’ve fought and tried and struggled and when I see that struggle mirrored in others it is a damn wonder I’ve made it this far, because I don’t think I am nearly as strong as the people I’ve been talking about or the characters I write. I think I’m lucky, which is to say I’ve steeled myself for just about everything. Which is to say there will come a time when I face something again that I am not steeled against and then I’ll be in those waters again.
And again I will need to use the words to bear me to the surface, so that I may not drown.