Your Depression Doesn’t Care

Being a writer in the information age has resulted in many micro-communities for writers. Personally, I prefer Wattpad & Writer’s Cafe. When one of our own, especially one of them young whippersnappers passes, it’s a reminder that we are all human. (Except for Felix R. Savage, I suspect he’s a sentient drinks machine.) We have the ability to connect with any other human on the planet instantly. That can take the form of a funny Facebook post. Re-tweeting that review that made our day. Doing whatever it is that people use Instagram for. We get to see art as it’s created.

Unfortunately, too many creatives end up taking their own lives. Each time it happens, it’s a sad reminder that many artists, including authors, battle mental health issues and that the act of writing is a solitary one. Many, many wonderful people have harmed themselves because they believe that they are the only one who suffers, and that they have to suffer alone. I wish that I could tell each and every one of them that they are most definitely not alone. My own battle with depression was one of the factors that led me to get my undergraduate degree in human behavior. Understanding depression has helped me a lot, but even with the knowledge, and the ability, once licensed, to practice as a mental health professional, I still suffer. I still have to fight against depression.

My depression doesn’t care.

I know, cerebrally, that depression is a thing. I know that I can be affected by what I eat, how much sleep I get, and how active I am throughout the day. I know that when the constant barrage of bad news on the television and on my Twitter feed gets me bummed out, I’ve gotta shut that noise down. I know that that dream last night about being a failure as a writer is just my insecurity going whack on my subconscious. I know I have many friends, family, and fans that for some reason adore me.

My depression doesn’t care.

I use the tools I’ve learned while getting my human behavior degree. I talk to other creatives, and we bolster each other with positive reinforcement. I joke about the pratfalls of being a hybrid author. (Except that I am totally going to self-publish a book of rejections once I have 300 pages worth.) I talk to those that sat next to me in class after class, and have moved on to their own mental health careers.

My depression doesn’t care.

See, that’s the thing with depression, and other mental health issues: It defies logic and experience. I’ve heard so many first-hand retellings of other author’s battles with mental health. We all deal with it. Some better than others. Some have networks to help them over the lows, and cheer the highs. But the take-away is that we all deal with it.

Your depression doesn’t care.

But I do. I care that there are people out there that suffer from mental health issues. If you’re suffering from depression, please remember that many have walked the path you see laid out before you. I have walked the path laid out before you. Amateurs, mid-listers, hybrid authors, and mega New York Times best sellers have all at one time walked the path laid out before you. Your demons are not that unique. The flavor might be different, but in the end, it’s very much the same.

Mark Gardner cares.

I would be some kind of nincompoop if I thought that I was the only one who cared. You have people who care about you and your well-being. Ignore that voice in the back of your head that tells you otherwise. If you’re suffering from depression, reach out to someone. If you subscribe to a particular religion, talk to your clergy. If you’re a veteran, utilize the many resources available to you. If you’re attending a college, university, or even a high school, find a guidance councilor. Cast away the shame of mental illness… That’s the depression going hog-wild on your psyche. There are numerous resources that allow you to remain anonymous. But get help.

Get. Help. Now.

National Suicide Prevention lifeline: 1-800-273-8255
Veterans: 1-800-273-8255
MentalHealth.gov: 1‑877‑726‑4727