Notes On… Depression

Depression is not just feeling sad.
It is not the blues.
It is not a bad day, or even a bad week.
It is not something you cry your way through and wake up better.

Depression is slowness that seeps into the bones.
It is disconnection: from self, from joy, from the future.
It’s wanting to care and not being able to.
It’s not always crying. Sometimes, it’s numbness.
Sometimes, it’s nothing.

People say:
Just go for a walk.
Have you tried gratitude?
You’re being dramatic.

But depression isn’t about a lack of trying.
It’s about trying every day to be okay in a nervous system that won’t rise.

Clinically speaking, depression is marked by persistent low mood, a loss of pleasure, changes in appetite or sleep, fatigue, slowed movement, guilt, feelings of worthlessness, difficulty concentrating, and thoughts that hover around death or disappearance. The DSM-5 calls for five or more symptoms, most of the day, nearly every day, for at least two weeks, one of which must be either low mood or anhedonia.

But these are criteria, not character.
They do not explain how grief can mimic depression.
They do not account for high-functioning depression, the kind that smiles on Zoom and collapses when the camera turns off.
They do not tell the full story of what it’s like to lose access to joy.

There are truths worth repeating. Depression is not laziness. It is not weakness, selfishness, or the absence of gratitude. It is a diagnosable, treatable mental illness influenced by genetics, trauma, environment, neurochemistry, and history. And guess what? Recovery isn’t clean. Some days are brighter. Some days return you to dark places you thought you’d left behind. That isn’t failure. That is part of it.

Depression lies.
It tells you nothing matters.
It tells you you’re the only one.
It tells you there’s no way out.

But there is.
It starts by being believed.

There is still you under the heaviness.
Still a spark in the ash.
Still a hand to reach toward.
Still hope, even if you can’t feel it yet.