I Will Never Look At Depression the Same Way Again.

I’ve taken some time from writing. Not for any deliberate reason. Simply because I didn’t give a fuck. It was smile and pretend.  

My wife passed away in March of 2023. I’ve written about our life together, and our struggle near the end. I will continue to do so. While her death is the main cause of my depression, that is not the focus of this article.

This is about how my viewpoint on depression has changed. 

I’d never experienced it before. Not like this. I suppose it would be inevitable to feel depression after my last couple of years, but what surprised me was when, and the depth.

Why now? Why not before?

After returning from Southeast Asia, I slipped into a deep funk. Not right away, for I was busy and had plenty on my mind. Some of that busyness was depressing by nature. The anniversary of Ivana’s death. Our wedding anniversary. Three days apart. 

Ivana’s aunt passed away, and I experienced an emotional return to Ivana’s hometown. 

Our last road trip together, driving my wife to her final resting place. On her birthday, which seemed fitting. I had to wait until another mausoleum was built so Ivana could be close to her mom and dad. There was some heart-wrenching closure that day as her columbarium was sealed.

As single events, they could all cause depression. I didn’t need all of those events in quick succession. 

I didn’t realize it at the time, but a vacation was the beginning of the worst depression I’ve ever known. It sounds crazy, but it’s true.

My deep depression started during a vacation in February. I visited Vietnam, Cambodia, and Bangkok, Thailand. It was my first trip to that part of the world, and I was anticipating a great time. I had been on group tours before and enjoyed getting to know my fellow travelers. Many of us keep in touch, and it’s fun to follow each other’s adventures.  

I booked with Exoticca, the extraordinary travel crafters. (Some parts were extraordinary, some not so much.)

Unfortunately, this group tour only had five people. Two couples and myself. 

Depression on vacation

OH NO!! Not at all what I had in mind. One of the couples had upgraded their hotels, so it was only a group of three on the few occasions when we went out together. Third wheel. Gross.

As soon as I learned this, I called Exoticca and tried to switch tours. I offered to make it happen by staying in Hanoi for a couple of days, to no avail. I offered to pay the costs of switching tours, including my flights. As I walked by myself, discovering Hanoi, where our tour began, I wondered if every night would be like this. ‘Alone’ was not what I wanted. 

I realized that the time I spent alone was not healthy. But I had no idea the depths of the depression I would sink into. 

During the day, I didn’t notice much. I was exploring, learning, and talking to the local people as much as Google Translate and their broken English would allow. I enjoyed extraordinary experiences to the Han Sung Sot Cave, the Mekong Delta, and Angkor Wat. 

It was the evenings that bothered me. I felt so lonely. I ate by myself most nights. Cities are so vibrant at night, and I explored on my own. It sucked. I felt like it was being constantly pounded into me how alone I now was. I have traveled alone before, and never felt that way. Perhaps my depression was already setting in. 

Sure, I met some cool people. I spent an evening in Ho Chi Minh listening to live music with a Georgian architect who lived in Amsterdam. He was working at the Hanoi port expansion. An interesting guy, we texted over the Euro (He was so excited as Georgia advanced!) and Copa (Canada made the semi-finals!) football tournaments.

When my tour was in Siam Reap, Cambodia, for a few days, I met another Exoticca tour filled with 25 people having a great time together. I was jealous, and annoyed. That’s what I wanted, what I thought I paid for. 

I can’t complain about the life I live

It’s not like I could, would, or should ever complain about the life I’ve been living. I live in a great community with awesome people who genuinely care about each other.

Ivana was becoming weak as her heart was failing. Stairs were becoming a real chore, and she could not get in our deep soaker tub/shower by herself. I helped Ivana, of course, but the situation was unacceptable to me. Her diminishing health was robbing her of basic human dignity. 

I felt discouraged. Angry. Powerless. We men are supposed to shield our women from pain and suffering. And I couldn’t. I could only make her life as comfortable as possible.

 I had to find a place that suited our new reality. 

A marina-based community, Friday Harbour, was perfect. I wish we found it sooner. Ivana passed before she could enjoy it. 

I wish I had the opportunity to wheel Ivana around the boardwalk, watch the boats, and join euchre and Mexican train dominoes nights. She would have loved it here, and made a lot of friends. Ivana would have found a more supportive community than we could ever have imagined.

That community support helped me get through the first year after her death. I sometimes felt guilty for having too much fun, too soon after Ivana passed away. But she made me promise to do so. Ivana thought Friday Harbour would be a great place for me to be, a great place to resume my life after she was gone. So selfless. A remarkable woman.

I wrote about Ivana and our life together, and that was the only time I felt like I was grieving. I thought I’d become a writer full-time, I had dabbled in the past. Now Ivana was inspiring the best writing I’d ever done.  

I wrote a lot during and after my Asian vacation and through the tough months of March and April. About my travels and Ivana. 

As springtime was in full bloom, I anticipated that I would be able to “Get on with the show.” (A phrase I used.) I had taken the time to recover. I would write for a living and resume my life. Yes, I was now alone, but I would be okay. 

Except I wasn’t okay. I was far from okay, and getting worse. 

I didn’t realize it then, but I was slipping into a dark place. Or more likely, I was already in a dark place, and had not realized it. I was sliding deeper into an abyss of dark depression. 

I had a bunch of writing projects on the go. Still do. I now see that as a sign that I was never going to write for a living. Not in that state of mind. I’d start a project with a rush of inspiration, then put it aside and start something new when I grew bored of it, and had a great new idea. 

Smile and pretend

I realized that when I tried to write for a career, my writing suffered greatly and was not very good. I’d get frustrated easily and would erase thousands of words at a time. Slam back some vodka and head for the pool. Smile to everyone and pretend life was great. 

I’d lay poolside and work on a writing project. Or pretend to. 

I wondered if there was guilt manifesting itself over the good time I enjoyed, perhaps too soon after Ivana passed away. But she made me promise to live well, to travel, and to complete things on our bucket list that she would never get to do. 

My attitude had changed for the worse. My mood swings were crazy. I could be full of happiness and light in the morning, and depressed as hell in the afternoon. 

Smile and pretend. 

Changes I recognize in the rearview mirror

I stopped posting on my website. I did post a few things I’d written long ago, during a brief couple of days with more positive thought. But that ended as abruptly as it began. 

I grew more frustrated by the politics and wars consuming our world today.

 I realize now that I was channeling my anger and frustrations to the insane craziness of the U.S. presidential election, and our own bunch of bumbling jackasses in Ottawa. We are going backward in North America. Religion is simply a brainwashing tool to control the masses and the gold, but I can be an atheist without being a dick about it.

I’ve always smoked pot recreationally. During social occasions or watching sports, I prefer a joint and a couple of drinks over having many drinks. I was smoking a lot more, throughout the day. Looking back at the timeline, (and my Mastercard bill) I know this was a reaction to the growing depression I felt. The depression definitely came first. 

Social Distancing

I was not as social as I had been the summer before. The prices at the Lake Club are insane and the food is mediocre at best, but that was more of an excuse. I wanted to be alone more and more. Very unlike me. 

I was distancing myself from people who cared. I now know that this is a common thing depressed people do. 

Smiling and pretending is also a very common behavior.

Something was wrong. I couldn’t continue this way. 

If it wasn’t for pickleball, there were days I would not have risen out of bed.

During an afternoon of a lighter mood, I did some reading on depression. I decided that I needed to seek professional help. In my darker moods, there was no way I would reach that conclusion, or even have done the reading.

Strangely, I did not seek out the help I realized I needed. Yet another fun boat outing was planned for that Saturday, followed by a homemade lasagna dinner (three varieties, the chicken lasagna with white sauce was dynamite!) and long weekend fireworks. 

How can anyone be depressed when you are going on fun boat trips with a big group of great people?? Impossible. Ridiculous. 

Smile and pretend.

Turns out, you can hide a lot of pain lounging poolside, playing pickleball, going on boat trips, and enjoying time with great people. 

I began to spend time up north, near Huntsville, Ontario. I stayed with a good friend (45 years!) on Sand Lake. Terry cooked in the restaurant adjacent to Edgewater Park Lodge. I started cooking with him in the evening, and spent my days kayaking and enjoying the tranquility of the water. I felt relaxed and calm on the water. But I was still not myself. 

I was still smiling and pretending. 

Weekends up north, weekdays at Friday Harbour. Again, how the hell could I be depressed living like that? People would kill for that life. 

And yet, I was as depressed as ever. But smiling and pretending.

Then one day, while drowning my sorrows poolside on twelve-dollar (!!) vodka sodas, I had an epiphany. 

Maybe last year was more about relief. Ivana’s suffering was over. Her pain and frustration were finally gone, and she could rest in peace. The final year of her life was so emotionally draining. Nothing in life is like watching your spouse shrink from 160 healthy pounds to 90 pounds of skin and bone, unable to complete the simplest tasks that we normally take for granted. 

It was evil. And it was over. 

At last, I see someone about my depression

I finally made an appointment to speak to someone. I was not in a good place. Smiling and pretending had become too difficult. 

The psychiatrist told me that my relief theory was very plausible. My brain knew that I needed to shut out parts of what I went through. When I was ready to move forward, my brain opened up what had been shut down because it had not been dealt with. 

Unfortunately, that coincided with the loneliness of my Asian vacation and all I went through in March. A mental hurricane that led to a downward spiral and a general lack of ‘give a fuck.’

Okay. Before, I would have rolled my eyes. With a more open mind, I can see how it made sense. So now what? 

“Write. Not to make a living. Write the way you began writing. For Ivana. Write for her, and write for you.”

So I am. Starting with this article. 

I did not respect depression before, and the toll it can take on people. How it can be so hard to get out of bed some days, let alone be a functional adult.

Five years ago I thought most depressed people just needed to get their head out of their ass. Quit the ‘woe is me’ crap, and get on with life. Pop a pill if you need to, there are many available.

I was wrong. So, so wrong. I’ll never look at depression the same way. 

I’m back to writing more. My Ivana stories will become a memoir of sorts. I hope they can help people get through the toughest part of their lives. 

Please support your local mental health services and groups.

No one should have to smile and pretend. Whatever the reason. 

Thank you for reading.

Copyright 2024, Michael Williams. All rights reserved.