Bravery and Depression

*Note:  this blog entry is in no way disparaging people who have called me brave – I would probably have called me brave too if I wasn’t me.  It’s just that hearing it so often has made me think about what it actually means*

When I think of what the word bravery means to me, I think of someone who acts even though it will bring them up against something they fear.  Many people have said I am brave for writing this blog, but it doesn’t feel brave in the slightest to me.  I am writing because I need to and it is healthier than keeping it all inside and easier than talking about it with real live people when I am prone to burst into tears when I broach anything to do with F and death.  Ironically, because of a lack of confidence in my writing (and in having anything interesting to say for myself) I think it would have been braver for me to write a blog before all this happened than it is now.

I’ve also been told that I’m brave merely for being able to function after a bereavement.  Since I wouldn’t think of someone unable to function after something like this as less than brave, it makes me wonder what bravery means in this context.  Yes I have faced one of my greatest fears, but it wasn’t something I had a choice about, so it what way does it make me brave?  Is bravery a quality that a person possesses, or something which is conferred on you merely through circumstance?  I am reminded of the words of John Diamond (author of C: Because Cowards get Cancer Too):

“I am not brave. I did not choose cancer. I am just me, dealing with it”

Some years ago I read a book by the biologist Professor Lewis Wolpert. Malignant Sadness is a book about depression. He writes both about the science of the illness and of his own personal experience of severe depression. The book begins:

“It was the worst experience of my life. More terrible even than watching my wife die of cancer. I am ashamed to admit that my depression felt worse than her death but it is true.”

Even though I had suffered from depression several times, as I read this, I couldn’t quite believe it.  Surely losing the most important person in your life would be even worse than the depression I had experienced?  But now, like Prof. Wolpert, I have been to both places and I too feel ashamed to admit that it is true.  There is something about having a reason for your emotions, a justification for them, that makes experiencing them easier to bear.  The lows are just as low, but somehow they are easier to climb out of for a while, to be able to enjoy life for a moment.  The kindness of people who help you out, or just let you rant, also validates your feelings and gives you support that you would never dream of asking for if you were depressed.

When you next encounter a friend or relative who is suffering from depression, please think of the help, care and consideration you would give to someone who is recently bereaved and consider that the person before you may be suffering as much or even more than that.

I’m not saying for a second that I would chose bereavement over depression if I had the choice.  I would have F back in a flash even if it meant a being sentenced to a lifetime of depression.  Sometimes the best choice is not just a matter of what causes the least suffering to yourself.