Indeed. You’re absolutely right.
However, it’s particularly dispiriting to try and connect then realize your plight has gone completely unheard, unacknowledged. That’s the case with my father. Talking to him about depression is like shouting into the void.
Depression never robbed me of compassion, though. I’ve never not taken the feelings of others into account, but I’ve been forced to protect myself from confrontation in order for what little energy I have not to get further depleted. Some people will only hear what they want to hear.
Also, depression has shown me who cares and who doesn’t, and I’m not quite sure where my father fits on that spectrum. There’s a lot about my life that is unfathomable to him, much as I’ve tried to explain it.
As for trusting that those who love me still do, unfortunately I’m unable to muster that kind of faith, for reasons that may or may not eventually show up in my writing. Let’s just say I’ve led an unusual and often traumatic life to date as a result of, um, questionable choices, and leave at that for now.
Yes, depression lies, and this is how I shut it up whenever it does.
Lastly, connecting with others is indeed crucial to puncturing the depressive bubble and it’s what I’m doing right here.
And I’m very glad you showed up!