I don’t talk often about severe depression.
Not because I am ashamed of it, but because I fought so hard no to let it define me, that I prefer not to mention it, unless I feel it can be of any help for someone else. My years struggling with depression are a bit blurry now. Probably for the better. Remembering vividly the long months of suffering wouldn’t do me any good. I consider it self preservation. Thank you, Brain, for that!
Making some research in my Outlook account a couple of days back, I found something I had absolutely no recalling of. Even this morning, I am not sure if I should be happy or sad I discovered it. It is troubling, and disappointing to say the least.
I mentionned once or twice, in The Cove, that I was once engaged to a French young man, in my early twenties. We had what I still consider to be a fairytale-like relationship. We loved each other like I had never imagined possible. He had decided to move to Québec, and our wedding was all scheduled, and one day, he broke up with me.
Looking back, I am sure I had a first depressive episode at that time. I wasn’t diagnosed, because I never seeked help, but knowing what I know now, I lived with depression for a couple of years after he left me.
Back to a couple of days ago, I was scrolling back in my Outlook files, when I noticed one that was named after him. I hadn’t paid attention to it in years, just thinking I had probably filed my correspondance with him, back in the days when we were together. Both of us wrote a lot, and our email exchanges were an epic romantic saga.
For some reason, I was curious, and I clicked on it.
In there, were only four or five emails. Dating back to 2008. My heart skipped a beat.
Our break up happened in 2002, and I had no memory of getting back in touch with him after that. Opening the oldest letter in the file, I found out that he had found me through a blog-like journal I then wrote online. He wanted to get back in touch.
I only remember vaguely posting dark poetry, and the overload of thoughts that haunted my mind. I was in the heart of my second depressive episode. Surprisingly, my answer to his first, endless message was very light hearted and positive. I was probably genuinely happy to hear from him, and didn’t want to worry him. I was wearing the mask I wore with everybody in my life, at that time.
But I was pretty much at the peak of my mental pain. And although he wrote a couple of times, after that, mentionning his worries, I never wrote back.
I ignored him, and his concern. And I forgot about our brief exchange.
To say that I had mixed feelings, discovering that, would be an euphemism. I was thrilled he had seeked for me, but I was devastated that I had let him down.
I can’t stop thinking about it now. I wonder if I should write a short note. To see if his adress is still good, for one thing. And to appologize and explain what happened more than ten years ago. How could I even explain. I have no memory of it.
I have a feeling that I’ll send him the link to The Cove, if I do dare to get in touch again. If I do so, and if you read this, Micah, know that I am deeply sorry! So very deeply sorry…
I think that only this week, I realized how much I have suffered. Denying my own self of a friendship I wished for more than anything else is the most painful proof of how self-destructive my mind was, back then.
This is not very joyous, I know… But I just had to vent it off.