A Soft Place to Fall

The sun is out today. Which is good because I’m just getting back to the point where I can actually see the light again. Depression is hard.

I remember doing this by myself in the past – under the covers, in the dark, alone for days waiting to stop feel like I was drowning, like my brain was trying to kill me. I have my wife now, and she reminds me that she will always be there and the sun will still be shining when I finish being at war with my brain and body.

My heart and applause go out to those of you who still have to wrestle with this alone. And I’d encourage you, once again, to reach out.

When I left the religion my family brought me up in, it meant I was going to lose everyone and everything I’d known. I had to build a support system somehow, though, before I left, or I wasn’t going to make it. The meant going online and finding others who could understand my situation and give me a shout-out when I needed it. Not the same as having people physically surround you, but it was a great substitute – the people were genuine, intensely interested in each others’ stories, and active on the forum.

When I finally left and thought I’d found my new spiritual home, I encountered welcoming people who commiserated with my story. Fortunately, I continued to grow and evolve. Unfortunately, these were not the people to take with me on that journey. I was tired of (yet again) disappointing people, so I slowly faded from their company. But they were there and their feather-light affection surrounded me until I was ready to take the next step.

Each time I made a transition, though, there was a community that provided a safe harbor, a soft place to fall after jumping off the cliff of my dysfunctional life. And now I have friends who offer to be, not just friends, but family when I need them. Sometimes, the places I land are hard and sharp, but the comfort of others makes for a welcome contrast.

At times, when I couldn’t or wouldn’t reach out and was on my own, I just went out to be in the company of strangers. While it can be disconcerting to see the world still goes one when you’re falling apart, it can also be comforting to know that the world still goes on when you’re falling apart – that there are people capable of finding happiness and busy-ness and fulfillment and that the apocalypse in your brain isn’t real. That you will re-join them – that the world is there, waiting for  you when you return. When brain chemistry and circumstances swallow you whole, knowing that there is good and life and sunshine still happening, somewhere, means there is another place available – some place other than “here”.

No matter what the darkness whispers into your ear, the light is the truth.