I hate being sad.  Really and truly loathe it.  I despise being around sad people.  My empathy is zilch.  When I see others who are sad or struggling, I politely tell them I’ll pray for them, maybe give them a hug, and quickly escape to another part of the room.  I used to think sadness and depression were like the plague.  If I just stay away, think happy thoughts, I’d build up a good enough emotional immune system that I wouldn’t catch it.  Because I am a sincerely happy, giggly, bubbly person.  And happy, giggly, bubbly people don’t get depressed.  It’s a life rule.

And for my naivety, God is laughing at me.

I felt the darkness.  It started one afternoon a few weeks after.  I hadn’t accomplished much that day, but I felt very, very tired.  Then I felt heavy, like the air around me had suddenly become a tangible cloud, pushing in on me.  I sat, then I laid down.  I was exhausted.  I had lists of things to do.  But I couldn’t do them if someone had an ice cream cone and a million dollar shopping spree to entice me to get up.  I felt hopeless, unmotivated, and apathetic.  I felt like the world was a fog, weighing in on me, preventing me from moving, paralyzing me from motion.  Why bother?  What’s the use?  For the first time in my life, I felt debilitated.  A friend was on the way to fix me dinner, and all I could think was, “Please don’t come.  I just want to lay here.  And sleep.  And never see the world again.”  I’m not sure I could even answer the door.

Another friend happened to text me, to check in.  She seems to have a direct line with God, as every time she prays, the prayer seems to be answered.  So I told her I was struggling, that I felt the depression setting in.  She agreed to pray.  And knowing her, she probably stopped everything, gathered her two young girls, and prayed right there with them.  Because she actually has empathy.  And she’s a do-er.

A moment later, my dog decided it was time to go outside, frantically getting in my face for me to grab her leash and go.  For the past few weeks, she had been relatively subdued, calm, and ready to go when I was, rather than the other way around.  Not today.  She was not buying into my whole “I can’t move” stance, and climbed on top of me in persistence.   With her furry 60 pounds and untrimmed nails digging in on me, I finally relented.

I had no energy to bother with shoes, even neglected to grab the leash.  I followed her outside, feeling like Eeyore’s sadder little sister, staring into the abyss.  For a moment, I was sure I may never feel happy again.  But as my bare feet walked through the grass, I started to feel the coolness and aliveness of the newly trimmed bermuda.  Then I felt the sunshine on my face.   And somehow, slowly, I felt the energy and the light return.

But I felt the darkness.  It is real.  It cannot simply be kept away with positive thinking and avoidance of others’ sadness.  There is no “mental sanitizer” to prevent the spreading of the “depression germs”.  It is a thing.  And it is horrible.  And it can happen to the happiest of us.  And you can’t just “think happy thoughts” to get out of it.  I was lucky enough to have a prayer warrior reach out at just the right moment.  But that doesn’t happen to everyone. For some the depression sits, stays, uninvited but overstaying its welcome anyway; taking up space in an otherwise happy life.  It prevents movement, action, and progress.  It is there, like an invisible wall, blocking the way for any productivity, any happiness, any peace, any light to break through.

It is there.  It can happen to the happy people.  It can happen to anyone.