At first, the gravity of Pete’s situation completely escaped me. Perhaps it’s my natural disposition to see the brighter side of things, to assume positive outcomes. While some might immediately jump to worst-case scenarios, I tend to expect things to resolve themselves favorably. However, in Pete’s case, my optimism was rooted in a deeper misunderstanding. I was blind to the fact that depression had fundamentally altered Pete, creating a different version of the friend I thought I knew. My perception of “Pete Seen” was limited to my pre-conceived notions, and depression simply didn’t fit into that picture.
Over the ensuing months, the true nature of severe depression unveiled itself to me as an abyss of unimaginable depth. I came to realize that for those of us fortunate enough to have never personally battled serious depression, grasping its reality through mere extrapolation from our own experiences of sadness is utterly insufficient. As philosophers like Cecily Whiteley and Jonathan Birch have articulated, depression transcends simple sorrow; it embodies an altered state of consciousness that profoundly distorts one’s perception of time, space, and even self.
The stark reality of this mental landscape is powerfully captured by journalist Sally Brampton, who described depression as a realm “that is cold and black and empty. It is more terrifying and more horrible than anywhere I have ever been, even in my nightmares.” This vivid imagery underscores the profound disconnect between ordinary sadness and the crippling weight of clinical depression.
Further illuminating this dark terrain, novelist William Styron, in his poignant memoir “Darkness Visible,” eloquently chronicled his own struggle with depression. He observed that “the madness of depression is, generally speaking, the antithesis of violence. It is a storm indeed, but a storm of murk. Soon evident are the slowed-down responses, near paralysis, psychic energy throttled back close to zero.” Styron further confessed, “I experienced a curious inner convulsion that I can describe only as despair beyond despair. It came out of the cold night; I did not think such anguish possible.” These words offer a glimpse into the agonizing internal turmoil that defines the experience of depression.
During the isolating period of the Covid pandemic, Pete and I relied on phone calls to stay connected. Initially, fueled by my ignorance, I made the misguided attempt to offer Pete advice on how to overcome his depression. Recalling his previous fulfilling experiences, such as performing eye surgeries in Vietnam for those lacking access to care, I suggested he revisit such endeavors, believing it would reignite his spirits. However, I failed to grasp the fundamental truth: it was precisely energy and motivation that depression had robbed him of, not a shortage of constructive ideas. It was only later, through reading and reflection, that I learned a crucial lesson: offering advice to someone grappling with depression often serves merely to reinforce their sense of isolation and misunderstanding, signaling to them, “you just don’t get it.” My well-intentioned advice, born from a place of ignorance, inadvertently widened the chasm of understanding between us.
