I heard the terribly sad news about an hour ago that depression has claimed another life; that someone else couldn’t live with the condition any longer. It’s an illness that can be the cruellest widowmaker of all as it leaves the bereaved with a lifetime of questions, of wondering if there was something, anything they could have done differently, something they’d missed, something that would have prevented this happening.
There really wasn’t.
One of the cruellest aspects of the condition is that you feel a burden on those you love and who love you back. Once you’re in that downward spiral of depression and guilt your rationality can evaporate and you feel that the only way back is to stop being that burden in the most irreversible, final way possible. You really think you’re doing everyone the biggest service you possibly can. Once you decide on that course of action then there really is nothing anyone can do, nothing at all.
If I should ever wantonly destroy
This mechanism which is all my world
All other worlds beyond my world – all stars
All things remembered; unremembered; lost;
Imagined; dreamed of; calculated; loved;
Hated; despised; looked forward to; desired –
If I should ever wilfully escape
From what my conscience calls responsibility
From this strange unexplained necessity
Of living life. If I should fail,
Run whimpering to death because some fear,
Because some sudden sharp neurotic dread
Some silly love, some moment of despair
Loosens me from the purpose that I hold
This sense of living life until the end:
Then, only then, please pity me, my friend.
Noel Coward