Dueling with Depression: Just Get Over It

A few months ago I was at a house party, and I struck up a conversation with a friend of a friend. Standing in a crowded kitchen sipping beer, we chattered on about typical topics such as hobbies and what we do for a living. He was a biker, and talked a bit about how much fulfillment he got biking the open highway.

I mentioned that I write for OUT FRONT, and that some of the articles I draft are about my own struggles with depression. I could immediately sense his irritation. He asked me how many people really suffer from depression, in my opinion, commenting on how antidepressants are overprescribed — that most people who claim to be depressed really aren’t.

He mentioned we all have difficulties in our lives, and that those who are depressed should, “Just get over it.” I took a pull from my beer and replied that I wish it were that easy. I do. I really, really do.

I’ve heard this line of thought before, that depression is a choice and most who claim to be depressed are hiding behind a fabricated illness so they don’t have to act. It’s a way of hiding from responsibilities.

Talking over the music at the party, I tried to explain to my biker friend that depression is like swimming with weights tied to your ankles. You have to kick your legs twice as hard as everyone else around you just to stay above the surface — just to keep from drowning.

Are there are days when you’re so exhausted and fatigued from kicking your legs that the thought of just letting the water pull your under is incredibly tempting? As Nietzsche put it: “The thought of suicide is a strong means of comfort; it helps get us through many an evil night.”

Looking back, I wish I could have that conversation again. What I should have told him was that depression sucks away any the few moments of joy you might experience in activities that once created a sense of purpose and fulfillment.

I should have told him to imagine that the sense of freedom and wonder he experiences when riding his bike becomes vacuous. Imagine what it would be like if you jumped on your bike and felt nothing, or even dread, as you rolled down the highway, that biking suddenly had the same impact as sitting on the couch starting at a blank wall. That’s what depression does, fostering a persistent disconnect from the rest of the world, from the people you care about, from the very things that once cultivated contentment.

Sex becomes mundane. Writing or listening to music feels empty and pointless, even though I know it’s not. Nothing you do has any emotional impact, the entire world reduced to the narrow tasks required for survival.

I should have asked my biker friend how to “just get over it,” as I’ve been trying to answer that question for decades.