Welcome, Depression

This is a short recount of an experience I had during a meditative practice, informed by Internal Family Systems, Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, and embodied trauma recovery. 

Essentially, I was just sitting in my home office, resting and thinking about how I was feeling. I wasn't using any substances, nor was I short on sleep - this experience happened just exactly how I wrote it, my senses involved, as well as my imagination. 

Instances like this put me in awe of consciousness and the plasticity of the human brain. 

Here's my unusual take on depression.

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I sat in my soft bucket chair, and leaned my head back. Pressure radiated my eyes and wrapped fingers around the back of my head, pulling my eyelids down and my head back. 

I listened to my body as it told me where I felt the most supported. The chair was cradling the back of my head, creating a tiny bit of traction, or lift. I focused on that sensation as I asked, "What should I do now?" 

"Accept the depression. Stop running from it. Sit with it and breathe with it. I am still here." 

I am still here.

I closed my eyes and said, "Depression, I know you're here. You've always been with me. You can come out now."

A presence lifted off the left side of my back, moving through the chair as if it were immaterial. I rubbed my legs comfortingly as goosebumps rose on my skin. The presence morphed into black clouds and billowed around me, asking permission. 

I nodded, my body starting to shake, and tilted my head back, opening my mouth rustily. I allowed the darkness to slide into my mouth and sink down into the cavern of my body. 

It settled its feet on the smooth floor and looked around thoughtfully. 

I looked inward at it and my lips trembled as I asked, "What do you think?" 

Its voice was soft, like powdered charcoal. "I don't know. But what I can say is this - you have a lot of room in here." 

My shoulders dropped a bit. Depression wasn't judging me. 

I thought about what it had said and nodded with a jerk, "Yes. You're right. I am big on the inside." 

"There's room for me here." Depression said quietly. 

Tears started to drip down my cheeks and I nodded again. "Yes, there has always been room for you. I'm so sorry I ignored you and didn't let you in all this time." 

It settled itself on the floor in a cross-legged position, the darkness pouring over it like a hooded cloak. 

"You deserve to be here, Depression." I said.

"I can help you," it looked up at me, it's voice soft, but certain. 

Other presences began to emerge from other rooms, drawing near to study Depression with interest. Some smiled to themselves or each other. Others looked at me with questions in their eyes. 

"Everyone," I announced, still rubbing my legs gently, "I have invited Depression in." 

Murmurs rippled through the group. 

I continued, "And they are going to be able to help me too, just like all of you. You all belong here."

And to Depression, I said, "How can you help me?" 

It looked up at me with unfathomable eyes and said, "I can take some of your cares and hold them for you when things get too heavy." 

Anxiety's head swiveled toward me, brows raised. 

I stepped closer and crouched down in front of Depression, holding out my hands, "You will help me carry my burdens?" 

"Yes," it breathed, and threw its cloak around me, pulling me in until we were face to face. 

"You do not need to carry so much. When you are overburdened, I can take the edge off and hold it in my arms of apathy. I will take care of your cares for you until you are strong enough to take them back, if you want to." 

Air whooshed from my lungs and I leaned my forehead against its formless void. 

"Ok," I whispered. "I'll let you help me." 

"Um, not to interrupt." 

I drew away from Depression and stood back to my feet, turning to Anxiety. 

It rubbed its hands together and stammered, "What if - I mean, depression is bad, right? Like, people take medication for that." 

"People take medication for anxiety too." someone nearby hissed quietly.

I looked around the room. Everyone seemed to be waiting for my answer, some with fear, others with patience. 

I didn't know what to say. Depression wasn't something I was familiar with accepting in my life. I had only ever run from it. I had no idea how to integrate it within the culture of my soul.  

"I can help." A bright voice emerged from the growing silence. 

Joy stepped forward, her face serene and confident, "I can make sure Depression doesn't take over. I am still here." 

"Me too." Said Hope, from the other side of the crowd, "We will care for Depression with you. We are all here together. We won't leave any of you alone." 

Depression lifted its gaze to drift over my face, a small smile curving the corner of its mouth. 

I lifted my hands to the group, opening my palms, "Alright. I trust you all. We will work together to take care of each other." 

"Welcome, Depression." Everyone sighed and turned to lay their hands on its bowed head in blessing. 

And now, when I start to feel overwhelmed and frantic over the things I can't control or the things I'm not sure I can endure, if I let myself pause, that beautiful darkness creeps up behind my eyes and whispers, "Let me take some of this for you." And with tears of relief running down my face, I let go.