I was drinking my cup of tea this morning and trying to wake up while catching up on Facebook. Any form of social media has been recently swarmed with the news of Robin Williams' death, favorite movie quotes he made, and videos of some of his movies. What happened along side these posts were heartfelt notes about reaching out, talking to someone, anyone if you had suicidal thoughts. And then I came across Matt Walsh's response. 

I could go on and on about what he said, but you're better off going and reading it, and then coming back here to finish this. Go ahead, I'll wait.

Done? Okay. Sorry about that. What you've read is pretty much the furthest from the truth. But it's important, I feel, to understand how some inexperienced people see depression. They may say they see it as a disease, but as Mr Walsh has clearly implied, it's one we can simply shake ourselves out of with happy thoughts and a little faith, hope, and pixie dust. There's always hope, he said. 

As someone who's struggled against depression and suicidal thoughts, let me just say when you're at the bottom of the barrel, there is no hope. When you feel alone in a large crowd of people you don't have hope, you don't have joy, you don't have love. You don't have anything but the bone crushing, lung burning despair, that obliterates every happy thought you've ever had in your entire life. That's the disease. That is what causes lives to end in suicide. Anyone who says it's not the disease that ends the life has never experienced severe depression firsthand. 

I've seen a lot of people say that taking your own life is selfish. 

It's tragic, it's preventable, it's a disservice, but don't call it selfish. Calling it selfish, especially to someone who struggles with depression and suicidal thoughts, it adding more guilt to an already stressed psyche. Depression is riddled with guilt. So riddled in fact, that it's nearly transparent with it. Conquering it, in part, at least for me, was learning to let go of the guilt, to not let it overpower my life. Both literally and figuratively speaking. It's learning to be a little selfish. In a way, depression may be only thinking about yourself, but trying to get over depression is actually thinking about yourself. 

Okay, now for good news; innocent bystanders, you can do something. You can talk. You can listen. You can absolutely not stand idly by while someone you love, like, or even have seen in passing at work spirals out of control. You can smile at someone who looks like they're having a bad day. You can ask people "how are you?" and actually care how they answer it. If someone says "fine" and looks not fine, then try to figure out why. 

Battling depression isn't about giving someone "something to live for", because everyone has that on some level. Everyone, every single person, has the potential to have something fantastic that makes life "worth living". What that is depends on the person. Fighting depression is finding out what works to get you beyond letting those thoughts control your life. For some people it's medication. For me, medication had the opposite effect, and counseling was the way to go. Some people need sunlight, some need faith, and some need long periods of introspection. Everyone's different, that's why people are still struggling with depression. 

In ways, I still struggle. I still have moments of illogical despair. I occasionally have a few lingering thoughts that keep me up at night, but they aren't accompanied by suicidal thoughts anymore. I just have to remind myself that I'm stronger than my depression. That I can and will stop thinking that way, because its not healthy. Being really stubborn helps me 'reset' myself. But my new way of thinking took years to get right. It took talking to several professionals. Deciding that I didn't like their imagery of storing bad thoughts in a trash can. (My thoughts are still not trash, doctor) Discovering my anti-depressants were what were making me act on my suicidal thoughts, and deciding to discontinue taking my medication. Finding a councilor. And seeing years later, that it wasn't a choice. It was a war. One I was lucky enough to win.