Sometimes Depression Means Not Feeling Anything At All

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This article originally appeared on Tonic in the US.

I never realized how little I knew about depression until I became depressed. I didn’t know, for instance, how depression can snatch away your sex drive, leaving you feeling newly—and involuntarily—asexual. I didn’t know that depression attacks your attention span, your energy, and your ability to finish things. During a recent bout, I had trouble finishing magazine articles and movies. The number of emails I sent plummeted. Everyday errands felt like Herculean tasks.

But perhaps most surprising was the emotional numbness. Nothing about hearing the word “depression” prepares you for having a moment of eye contact with your two-year-old niece that you know ought to melt my heart—but it doesn’t. Or for sitting at a funeral for a friend, surrounded by sobs and sniffles, and wondering, with a mix of guilt and alarm, why you’re not feeling more. 

During my recent depression spell, I experienced this kind of numbness for weeks. Political news that would have previously enraged me left me cold. Music had little effect beyond stirring memories of how it used to make me feel. Jokes were unfunny. Books were uninteresting. Food was unappetizing. I felt, as Phillip Lopate wrote in his uncannily accurate poem “Numbness,” “precisely nothing.”

And this was new to me. Because while I had been in and out of depression before, I still, like many people, didn’t fully grasp an illness that affected 16 million Americans in 2015. (That’s more than the combined populations of New York City, LA, and Chicago.) “It’s ubiquitous,” the author of The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression, Andrew Solomon, tells me. “[And yet] I think the public doesn’t really understand it well at all.”

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders says, for a person to be diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder, they need to experience “Depressed mood most of the day, nearly every day” or “markedly diminished interest or pleasure in all, or almost all, activities most of the day, nearly every day” for a period of two weeks. But this is just the baseline. For a diagnosis to be made, the person must also report at least four additional symptoms from a list that includes significant weight loss or weight gain, an inability to sleep or excessive sleepiness, physical restlessness or slowness (“psychomotor agitation or retardation,” in clinical terms), frequent fatigue or energy loss, feelings of worthlessness or excessive guilt, indecision or a diminished ability to concentrate, and recurring thoughts of death or suicide.

“It’s truly amazing to me, the longer I’ve been in the field, how many manifestations of depression there can be in the body,” says Jennifer Payne, a professor of psychiatry and director of the Women’s Mood Disorders Center at Johns Hopkins School of Medicine. These can range from headaches to GI issues to various pain syndromes, and depression can also exacerbate existing conditions, like diabetes or high blood pressure. “If you take two women with the same breast cancer, one’s depressed [and] one’s not, the woman who’s depressed has twice the chance of dying from her breast cancer,” Payne says.


During my conversations with Payne and other medical experts, I began to understand just how vast and multifaceted this illness can be. Depression can be visible or invisible to a person’s loved ones. It can last for weeks, years, or even decades. It can affect sleep, concentration, appetite, energy, memory, movement, and—as I know well from trying to write while depressed —a person’s facility with language.

A particularly scary aspect is the fact that hopelessness and helplessness are actually symptoms of the illness. Stanford University’s David Spiegel, a professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences and director of the school’s Center on Stress and Health, tells me that depression is a common, treatable mental disorder, but people it afflicts can blame themselves for things that aren’t their fault. “And so depressed people often feel guilty about being depressed and not performing the way they should,” he says. “And that’s part of the disease…[that] keeps them from digging their way out, or getting help from people to dig their way out.”

And the causes of the illness can be as varied as the symptoms. Emory University’s Nadine Kaslow, a professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences, tells me that, with some people, depression is more genetically driven, while others experience it as reaction to external stress. She runs off a long list of the circumstances that can trigger depression: loss of a loved one, job, or key identity; things that cause feelings of failure, shame, or humiliation; a natural disaster that overturns your life, like the recent hurricanes in Texas, Florida, and Puerto Rico; financial woes and anxiety; child abuse; domestic violence.

We also know that depression can be devilishly impervious to happy events. Readers of William Styron’s Darkness Visible: A Memoir of Madness, may remember how he describes receiving a prestigious literary prize in Paris, a check for $25,000, and royal treatment from his hosts, all while feeling what he describes as “panic…dislocation, and a sense that my thought processes were being engulfed by a toxic and unnameable tide that obliterated any enjoyable response to the living world.”

The more I dug into my reporting, it also became clear how many things depression is not. It is not the fault of the person afflicted, nor is it necessarily in their control to “snap out of it” or “pull themselves up by their bootstraps.” (These two points really can’t be stressed enough.) And it certainly is not merely feeling sad. “People who have never experienced depression think, ‘Well, I pulled myself together after a rough time,’ and they don’t understand the intense physicality, the immediacy, and the incontrovertibility of the condition,” Solomon says. It’s tempting to envision depression as an extreme point on a mood spectrum, he adds, but it’s really the mood spectrum shutting down altogether. The word he used frequently in our conversation was a feeling of “nullity.” And in his TED talkon depression, he repeats the sentence, “The opposite of depression is not happiness, but vitality.”

The British author Matt Haig recently tweeted, “Everyone is comfortable so long as you talk about mental illness in the past tense.” And I admit, it’s easier for me to write this piece after my recent bout of depression passed. When I share it with people I know, I can truthfully say, “I feel much better now,” and spare us both a less comfortable conversation. But being outside of a depressive spell (at least for now; I have little doubt I’ll return at some point) also allows me an interesting journalistic perspective.

One point worth making—and I say this as a mostly non-religious person—is that emotions are a sacred, miraculous thing. You realize this when you lose them. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so happy to feel angry as the recent day when, after reading about some recent political horror, I felt my first stirrings of moral outrage in months. I was offended again—and it was beautiful. Other revelatory moments followed, like household appliances flickering back on after a power outage: the return of that almost-crying lump in my throat during emotional movies, or the burst of spontaneous laughter when I heard a joke. A few weeks ago, I drove home after an errand and stayed in my car for a minute just to soak in the old-but-new joy I from a song I had recently discovered.

But even as I exit my latest depressive spell, I remain mindful of the people who are still there. I know what it means to smile for a photo and feel like you’re lying. I know what it means to feel a vague sense of sadness over not feeling sadness. I know what it means to comb the Internet for a video, an article, a book, that explains what’s going on inside your seemingly broken brain. To know depression is to become familiar with one of its paradoxes: the feeling that you’re missing out on the full human experience is, in fact, a large part of the human experience.

This is where friends and family can help. Odds are that you know someone who has been, or will be, depressed at some point. And so being a vigilant friend and family member means keeping an eye out for the person who’s less and less socially active. Stay aware of the co-worker for whom it appears, as one expert told me, “like the light in their eyes is gone.” Check in with them. Call them. Visit with them.

The brain is a complex and crucial organ that represents humans’ major evolutionary advantage over other animals, Spiegel tells me. And sometimes it has problems working. When this happens, it’s not a judgment on the person affected, he says. “It’s a problem that sometimes comes up when you’re dealing with using a complex organ to deal with complex problems in life.”

It’s easy to fix a bike or a car when they break, he continues, but your brain is complicated. “So get help with it if it’s not working right.”

 

On The Days Depression Makes You Feel Nothing At All

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Today is a blah day. It isn’t that there is anything terribly wrong today. There are issues looming, yes, but there are always issues of late. There is nothing pressing, though.

It is just a blah day, a day where I lay in bed, struggling to find a reason to get up. I’ve had to pee for a couple hours now. Yet, the dull ache in my bladder is not enough to pull me from under my covers. I should probably brush my teeth. Maybe get dressed and get a bite to eat. I have been awake for more than five hours now, even before the sun rose. Yet, here I still lay.

I feel blah. While the world around me continues with its hustle and bustle, I have no motivation, no desire to do anything. Nothing seems interesting or important. Nothing is pressing enough to pull me from this funk.

I would go back to sleep if I could, call in sick from life itself. I feel like nothing, not myself. I feel numb.

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Days like this are common with depression. Those who have never struggled often assume that depression is all bouts of random sadness and tears. Yes, I have those days, too, and it is draining when everything and anything feels heart-wrenching and makes me want to cry. Yet, even worse, perhaps, than the days when I feel everything too strongly are the days I feel nothing at all.

On these days, I have trouble pulling myself up or doing anything. I’m not being lazy. I just don’t see the point. I am pulled into a gray abyss, where there’s no purpose, no joy, no motivation, no will to live. It isn’t that I’m suicidal and actively want to die, either. I just have no will to live. The emptiness is all-consuming.

People suggest I should just “try” to be happy or to be positive. If only it were this simple. Again and again, the “should be” and “could be” options roll around in my mind but I’m numb to them all. Deep down, I know I should be getting up, doing something, living life.

Yet, my brain has me in a death lock. “What’s the sense?” and “Why bother?” it parrots to me again and again. Its voice is booming and deafening. I can hear nothing else. I would love to just smile, think a happy thought and have it vanish away like a puff of smoke but it’s solid and real to me. It takes the form of four solid walls, caging me in, holding me hostage, refusing to budge or listen to reason.

Those blah days are the worst because I feel trapped in this numbness. I cannot escape. I never know whether it will last one day or one week. There is never an end in sight, never a scheduled sweet release.

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Blah days drag on and on until at some point I begin to feel everything too strongly again. On blah days, I would welcome the tears, the anguish, the pain and the struggling just to feel anything at all.

It has been more than hours now, and I’ve barely managed to write a few paragraphs. Yet, those feel like a tremendous accomplishment. I call it a victory. I have done something, which is more than I am able to achieve on most blah days. I still have to pee, though the dull ache has grown into a steady cramp. Breakfast time has come and gone, and lunch time has arrived. Yet, I still don’t have any desire to eat anything, let alone get up.

There are calls I should make and things I should be doing. Yet, my depression still echoes in my head that I shouldn’t bother, that nothing is worth the effort. It tells me to stay in bed, just let this day drift on by, that it doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters. It is all I can hear. It is deafening. I am adrift in a sea of hopelessness and emptiness. I feel paralyzed.

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I swear I am not being lazy. I’m just trapped in a battle with my own mind. I feel lost and alone. I feel trapped in this emptiness. I feel nothing. I feel numb. I feel blah. This is what depression feels like.​

This Comic Sums Up Exactly What It’s Like Living With Depression

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Samantha Maffucci

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This article was originally published at The Mighty. Reprinted with permission from the author.

When Depression Makes Me Numb, Not Sad

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When depression makes me numb, the lack of feeling anything is, paradoxically, a terrible feeling.

People who don’t experience or understand depression are often told it’s not as simple as feeling sad. This is truer than I can adequately describe; there are many facets to depression. One symptom I wish more people understood is feeling numb. A sense of hollowness — like a dull, numb lump — often defines me when I’m really down. It’s a shitty, zombie state of gray flatness. Life passes by and you won’t bother to wave at it because you don’t really care. In fact, you just don’t really feel anything.

How does numbness link to depression? Well, one explanation I find helpful is that, when the strain of depression is extreme, experiencing emotions feels exhausting. There is no joy in my favorite activities or excitement in making plans. I don’t feel the same outrage at things that should anger me, nor do I bother to get annoyed at gripes. It’s all too much.

Volume 90%

 

From numbness to nothingness.

The frightening thing about feeling numb is that it’s the cruel cousin of despair. A deep indifference to oneself and to the world is a step towards believing neither is worth fighting for. Your existence feels detached; you think you’re inconsequential. This is a dangerous, fragile space, because your perspective on the value of life is horribly distorted. The consequence can be a sense of inertia and apathy, or even worse, self-destructive behavior and thoughts.

When nothing in life feels meaningful or worthy, it is alienating and dreadful. Your relationships and work may suffer, as those around you may interpret your attitude as being deliberately indifferent or distant.

For something that feels like nothing, numbness is a godawful thing.

Finding feeling again.

When you’re in a dark place, try to remember that it will get better. I know you probably bully this thought into a corner of your mind. I know it can sound patronizing or glib. Numbness is a hard nut to crack, because it inherently defies the will to feel.

There might be one special thing that gets you out of the numbness prison — whether it’s seeing a friend, watching South Park or baking biscuits. I hope you find it.

It’s pretty scary when you are in a stage what I call the “Blah Factor.” I say this because when you don’t feel anything you become numb to nothing. You don’t care and with a mental disorder like manic depression that blah blah feeling can lead to despair. What to do when you are face with the black factor? Hello, I’m Sunny Larue blogger, writer, storyteller, music lover and martini admirer. My blogs are about self-discovery with a positive vibe. My stories are about love and loss inspired by real life events. And this is the Blah Factor.

via THE BLAH FACTOR — Sunny Larue

The Most Dangerous Form of Depression Hides Behind a Smile

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The term “smiling depression”—appearing happy to others while internally suffering depressive symptoms—has become increasingly popular. Articles on the topic have crept up in the popular literature, and the number of Google searches for the condition has increased dramatically this year. Some may question, however, whether this is actually a real, pathological condition.

While smiling depression is not a technical term that psychologists use, it is certainly possible to be depressed and manage to successfully mask the symptoms. The closest technical term for this condition is “atypical depression.” In fact, a significant proportion of people who experience a low mood and a loss of pleasure in activities manage to hide their condition in this way. And these people might be particularly vulnerable to suicide.

It can be very hard to spot people suffering from smiling depression. They may seem like they don’t have a reason to be sad—they have a job, an apartment and maybe even children or a partner. They smile when you greet them and can carry pleasant conversations. In short, they put on a mask to the outside world while leading seemingly normal and active lives.

Inside, however, they feel hopeless and down, sometimes even having thoughts about ending it all. The strength that they have to go on with their daily lives can make them especially vulnerable to carrying out suicide plans. This is in contrast to other forms of depression, in which people might have suicide ideation but not enough energy to act on their intentions.

Although people with smiling depression put on a “happy face” to the outside world, they can experience a genuine lift in their mood as a result of positive occurrences in their lives. For example, getting a text message from someone they’ve been craving to hear from or being praised at work can make them feel better for a few moments before going back to feeling low.

Other symptoms of this condition include overeating, feeling a sense of heaviness in the arms and legs, and being easily hurt by criticismor rejection. People with smiling depression are also more likely to feel depressed in the evening and feel the need to sleep longer than usual. With other forms of depression, however, your mood might be worse in the morning and you might feel the need for less sleep than you’re normally used to.

Smiling depression seems to be more common in people with certain temperaments. In particular, it is linked to being more prone to anticipate failure, having a hard time getting over embarrassing or humiliating situations, and tending to ruminate or excessively think about negative situations that have taken place.

Women’s Health magazine captured the essence of smiling depression—the façade—when it asked women to share pictures from their social media and then to recaption them on Instagram with how they really felt in the moment they were taking the picture. Here are some of their posts.

Burden and treatment

It is difficult to determine exactly what causes smiling depression, but low mood can stem from a number of things, such as work problems, relationship breakdown, and feeling as if your life doesn’t have purpose and meaning.

It is very common. About one in ten people are depressed, and between 15% and 40% of these people suffer from the atypical formthat resembles smiling depression. Such depression often starts early in life and can last a long time.

If you suffer from smiling depression it is therefore particularly important to get help. Sadly, though, people suffering from this condition usually don’t, because they might not think that they have a problem in the first place—this is particularly the case if they appear to be carrying on with their tasks and daily routines as before. They may also feel guilty and rationalize that they don’t have anything to be sad about. So they don’t tell anybody about their problems and end up feeling ashamed of their feelings.

So how can you break this cycle? A starting point is knowing that this condition actually exists and that it’s serious. Only when we stop rationalizing away our problems because we think they’re not serious enough can we start making an actual difference. For some, this insight may be enough to turn things around, because it puts them on a path to seeking help and breaking free from the shackles of depression that have been holding them back.

Meditation and physical activity have also been shown to have tremendous mental health benefits. In fact, a study done by Rutgers University in the US showed that people who had done meditation and physical activity twice a week experienced a drop of almost 40% in their depression levels only eight weeks into the study. Cognitive behavioral therapy and learning to change your thinking patterns and behavior is another option for those affected by this condition.

And finding meaning in life is of utmost importance. The Austrian neurologist Viktor Frankl wrote that the cornerstone of good mental health is having purpose in life. He said that we shouldn’t aim to be in a “tensionless state,” free of responsibility and challenges, but rather we should be striving for something in life. We can find purpose by taking the attention away from ourselves and placing it onto something else. So find a worthwhile goal and try to make regular progress on it, even if it’s for a small amount each day, because this can really have a positive impact.

We can also find purpose by caring for someone else. When we take the spotlight off of us and start to think about someone else’s needs and wants, we begin to feel that our lives matter. This can be achieved by volunteering, or taking care of a family member, or even an animal.

Feeling that our lives matter is ultimately what gives us purpose and meaning—and this can make a significant difference for our mental health and well-being.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

 

What’s It Like to Be Suicidal? This Is My Experience, and How I Got Through It

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How we see the world shapes who we choose to be — and sharing compelling experiences can frame the way we treat each other, for the better. This is a powerful perspective.

At times, I’ve struggled with suicidal thoughts, even on a weekly basis.

Sometimes I’m able to ignore them. I might be driving to meet a friend for brunch and briefly think about driving my car off the road. The thought might catch me off-guard, but it quickly passes through my mind and I go about my day.

But other times, these thoughts stick around. It’s like a huge weight is dropped onto me, and I’m struggling to get out from underneath it. I suddenly get an intense urge and desire to end it all, and the thoughts can start to overwhelm me.

In those moments, I’m convinced I’ll do anything to get out from under that weight, even if it means ending my life. It’s like there’s a glitch in my brain that’s triggered and my mind goes haywire.

Even if that glitch is actually temporary, it can feel like it will last forever
With time, though, I’ve become more aware of these thoughts and found ways to manage when things get tough. It’s taken a lot of practice, but simply being aware of the lies my brain tells me when I’m suicidal helps to combat them.

If this last year has taught me anything, it’s that no matter what depression tells you, there’s always hope.
Here are four ways my suicidal ideation shows up, and how I’ve learned to cope.

1. When it feels impossible to focus on anything other than my pain, I look for a distraction
When I’m suicidal, I struggle to listen to reason — I only care about relief. My emotional pain is intense and overwhelming, so much so that it’s hard to concentrate or think about anything else.

If I find that I can’t focus, I sometimes turn to my favorite TV shows, like “Friends” or “Seinfeld.” They bring me a sense of comfort and familiarity that I need in those times, and it can be a great distraction when reality gets to be too much. I know all of the episodes by heart, so I’ll usually lay there and listen to the dialogue.

It can help me pull back from my suicidal thoughts and refocus on getting through another day (or just another hour).

Sometimes all we can do is wait for the thoughts to pass and then regroup. Watching a favorite show is a great way to pass the time and keep ourselves safe.
2. When I’m convinced that everyone would be better off without me, I challenge those thoughts
My loved ones would never want me to die by suicide, but when I’m in crisis, it’s hard for me to think clearly.

There’s a voice in my head that tells me how much better off my parents would be if they didn’t need to support me financially, or if my friends didn’t have to take care of me when I’m at my worst. No one would have to answer the late-night calls and texts or come over when I’m in the midst of a breakdown — isn’t that better for everyone?

But the reality is, I’m the only one that thinks that.

My family wouldn’t recover if I died, and my loved ones know that being there for someone when things get tough is a part of life. They would rather answer those late-night calls than lose me forever, even if I struggle to believe that in the moment.

When I’m in this headspace, it usually helps to spend some time with Petey, my rescue dog. He’s my best friend and has been there through it all this past year. On most mornings, he’s the reason I get out of bed.

I know he needs me to stick around and take care of him. Since he was already abandoned once, I could never leave him. Sometimes that thought alone is enough to keep me hanging on.

Challenge your thoughts about loved ones being better off without you by not only thinking through the reality, but spending time with loved ones — pets included.
3. When I struggle to see my other options, I reach out to my therapist — or I go to sleep
Being suicidal is, in some ways, a form of total emotional exhaustion. I’m tired of having to force myself out of bed each morning, having to take all of these medications that don’t seem to be working, and crying constantly.

Struggling with your mental health day in and day out is very tiring, and when I’ve reached my limit, it can feel as though I’m just too broken — that I need a way out.

It helps to check in with my therapist, though, and be reminded of all of the progress I’ve made so far.
Instead of focusing on the step backward, I can refocus on the two steps forward I took just before that — and how other forms of treatment I haven’t tried yet can help me get back on my feet again.

On the nights when the ideations are most intense and it’s too late to check in with my therapist, I take a couple of Trazadone, which are antidepressants that can be prescribed as a sleep aid (Melatonin or Benadryl can also be used as sleep aids, and purchased over-the-counter).

I only take them when I feel unsafe and don’t want to make any impulsive decisions, and it helps to ensure that I make it through the night. In my experience, those impulsive decisions would’ve been the wrong choice, and I almost always wake up the next morning feeling a little better.

4. When I feel completely and utterly alone, I push myself to reach out
When I’m dealing with suicidal ideations, it can feel like no one understands what I’m going through, but I also don’t know how to articulate it or ask for help.

It’s hard enough to try and explain to someone why you feel the desire to die, and sometimes, even opening up just leads to feeling misunderstood.

Even if it can feel awkward or scary at first, it’s important to reach out in these moments and keep yourself safe
If I’m feeling suicidal, I know the worst thing I can do is try to go it alone. It took me a long time to work up the courage to call someone when I was feeling this way, but I’m glad I did. Calling my mom and best friends has saved my life multiple times, even if in the moment I wasn’t convinced it would.

Sometimes you have to ignore the part of your brain that tells you it isn’t worth it, and pick up the phone anyway
Now when I’m feeling suicidal, I call a friend I trust or my parents.
If I don’t feel like talking, just having someone on the other side of the phone can still be comforting. It reminds me that I’m not alone, and that I (and the choices that I make) matter to someone.

If you don’t feel comfortable talking to a friend, text the crisis hotline by texting HOME to 741741. I’ve done this a few times, and it’s nice to just get my mind off things by texting with a compassionate person.

When you’re in a depressed state, you’re not in a position to make permanent decisions, especially when there’s no one there to offer perspective. After all, depression doesn’t just affect our moods — it can affect our thoughts, too.

Suicidal ideation can be extremely scary, but you’re never alone and you’re never without options.

If you’ve run out of coping tools and you have a plan and an intent, please call 911 or go to the nearest hospital. There’s absolutely no shame in that, and you deserve to be supported and safe.

If this last year has taught me anything, it’s that no matter what depression tells you, there’s always hope. No matter how painful it can be, I always find that I’m stronger than I think I am.

And chances are pretty good that if you’ve made it this far, you are, too.

Why Does Depression Make Me Want to Be Alone?

Author Article

Xavier Lalanne-Tauzia

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Welcome to Coping, Episode 21.

I never realized how little I knew about depression until I became depressed. I didn’t know, for instance, how depression can snatch away your sex drive, leaving you feeling newly—and involuntarily—asexual. I didn’t know that depression attacks your attention span, your energy, and your ability to finish things. During a recent bout, I had trouble finishing magazine articles and movies. The number of emails I sent plummeted. Everyday errands felt like Herculean tasks.

But perhaps most surprising was the emotional numbness. Nothing about hearing the word “depression” prepared me for having a moment of eye contact with my two-year-old niece that I knew ought to melt my heart—but didn’t. Or for sitting at a funeral for a friend, surrounded by sobs and sniffles, and wondering, with a mix of guilt and alarm, why I wasn’t feeling more.

Tonic writer Phil Eil goes on to explore depression-induced numbness here.

Ask the therapist

Q: Why does my depression make me want to distance myself from other people?

A: This is a confusing, very real, phenomenon: I don’t want to be alone… but leave me alone.

I like to think of depression as an entity, separate from you, and as something that grows and shrinks. There are certainly many behaviors that help depression grow: isolating yourself, over-sleeping, staying indoors, not eating, eating unhealthily, neglecting hygiene, etc. These are likely not behaviors you would engage in on your own without depression, but depression can creep into your brain and make you want to only do these things. It tells you it’s all you’re capable of doing, and then doing them worsens your mental state and keeps you depressed for longer.

The other part of my answer is that absolutely nothing is wrong with you for wanting to distance yourself from other people. It could very well be that you’re not feeling yourself, and just showing up feels like it won’t work or will be too exhausting. But if you can, you should fight these feelings, because sometimes your brain snaps out of its depressed state, even just for a little while, when you’re involved with people you care about.

Here’s my best tip: When you’re depressed, do the opposite of what your body is telling you to do. So if you feel like sleeping till 2pm, force yourself to go for a walk outside instead. If you feel like ordering takeout or eating chips for dinner, organize yourself enough to cook a simple meal. The more often you can take a moment to identify whether what you are about to do will grow or shrink your depression, the more you can separate yourself from the thoughts and behaviors that depression brings on.

Michelle Lozano is an Associate Marriage and Family Therapist and member of the ADAA.