Trigger warning: suicide
February 27, 2019
I feel utterly unwell. My head throbs and I have no desire to eat the shrimp pasta my partner prepared for dinner. Tears have been threatening all day. When I picked up my six-year-old son from school, he excitedly asked if he could create a bomb out of LEGO. I calmly explained why such creations weren’t a good idea. He got upset, insisting, “You’re not me! I can name it whatever I want!”
Depression shows itself in various ways. For me, it feels like a heavy weight pressing down on me, making it impossible to escape. Darkness envelops me, obscuring any light. My face becomes blank. I long to cry, but the tears won’t come. It’s akin to when a doctor uses a tongue depressor to hold your mouth open, making it difficult to express yourself. That’s how depression feels—paralyzing. I’m not myself.
All I desire is to curl up in bed and drift off, never to wake again. Thoughts turn dark as I contemplate different ways of leaving this world. I think of sharp objects, swerving my car off the road, or stepping into traffic. I’ve even considered pills. But then I picture my sweet son and the void my absence would create in his life. That thought stops me.
With bipolar disorder, the onset of depression is unpredictable. Seasonal changes often trigger it, and winter is particularly difficult. I yearn for summer—the time of boundless creativity and energy, when I can work tirelessly toward my goals. I savor those moments, fully aware they are fleeting. What goes up must come down.
Whether soaring or sinking, music is my lifeline.
I subscribe to Maria Popova’s Brain Pickings newsletters, filled with inspiring quotes and insights from brilliant minds. In one edition, she shared Dr. Oliver Sacks’ reflection on how music helped him survive a harrowing experience.
“I felt, with the first bars of the music, a hope and an intimation that life would return to my leg — that it would be stirred, and stir, with original movement, and recollect or recreate its forgotten motor melody.”
When depression envelops me, I need to raise my voice like my son and assert, “You’re not me! I get to name it whatever I want!” I must unleash the power of music to shatter the darkness, transforming it into light and inspiration. I yearn to sing and breathe life into the notes until the music lifts me from the abyss.
I follow writer Amber Sparks on Twitter, and she once posed a question: “You have five minutes until the world ends and you can put anything on speaker or headphones. What do you want to go out listening to? Think fast.” Without hesitation, I picked “Tear in Your Hand” by Tori Amos, a song that has resonated with me since my teenage years. Tonight, I’ll dim the lights, close my eyes, and lose myself in the music. It’s all I can do right now.
January 5, 2021
Winter has returned, and we’re navigating a pandemic. It’s dark by 5 PM. My son recently asked my partner to make shrimp pasta for dinner, despite refusing to eat the shrimp. I kept quiet; I don’t cook. How can I complain? The aroma of lemon, butter, garlic, and seafood stirs memories I can’t articulate.
This Christmas, I treated myself to a weighted blanket, which provides a comforting weight, contrasting with the suffocating pressure of depression. I knew I needed it when I started bouncing out of bed early and cleaning my home like Monica Geller on caffeine. Meanwhile, my son has amassed enough LEGO pieces to construct the world’s largest bomb, which is now scattered across our living room floor. Those tiny pieces might just drive me to madness.
Yesterday, I had a Zoom session with my psychiatrist. She encouraged me to embrace my current burst of energy and to enjoy the tidiness of my closets and the creative inspiration flowing through me. She assured me that soon, possibly tonight, my spark will dim. I told her that I’m aware I’ll be okay because I often live under that oppressive tongue depressor. I will be okay.
Tonight, though, I plan to sit in my makeshift home office as long as I can. I’m going to listen to a new song, “What I Needed” by Dark Dark Dark, recommended by a coworker. I’ll allow myself to experience all the emotions. Soon, my partner will send my son to fetch me for dinner. I just overheard it’s Taco Tuesday. I take a deep breath. I have to be me; it’s all I can do.
If you or someone you know needs help, visit the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline or the SAMHSA National Helpline or contact the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741.
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Summary:
This article explores the author’s struggles with depression and bipolar disorder, highlighting the importance of music as a coping mechanism. It shares personal anecdotes about parenting while dealing with mental health challenges and offers insights into finding joy in difficult times. The piece emphasizes the unpredictability of mental health and the necessity of seeking help and embracing creativity.
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