Depression Has Many Faces

Last night was an historic event for our family.   My sister was honored to give the student address at her graduation ceremony where she received her Bachelor’s degree.  I was not going to miss this night. To the unknowing eye, I am sure that I looked perfectly normal.   I had on a cute summer dress, jewelry, make up, my hair had curls in it, and at sometimes I was even wearing a genuine smile.

We look pretty normal

After the ceremony my kids wanted to know if we were going to get food with friends, which is usually our custom after big events.   I looked over at Jeff (my husband) and we were a bit removed from the crowd, and said, “The kids want to know what we are doing, I am going to go home and cry.”  Jeff, a pro at this now looked at me and said, “Ok.  I probably will go home too, and eat.”

My dear friend was in earshot and apparently faceshot of our conversation, and started laughing.   She said in her laughter, “I love it, Jeff!  You had the perfect look on your face and said ‘OK!’ like it was no big deal!”   I explained it was no big deal.   The boys are accustomed to it as well.    I often speak to them with tears rolling down my face.   They just act as if the tears aren’t there, and go on with life.  No one is in denial, we just don’t need to make a big deal out of a small symptom.

Yesterday, my son, Jarrod, sat and we discussed a situation he had on his heart.  He was concerned for a friend who comes from a very dysfunctional family.   I commented that if you are in our home we look dysfunctional with me camped out on the couch.   I was very surprised by Jarrod’s reaction.   He said, “yes, but you have a real condition, you have a medical condition, and you don’t do that (sit on the couch) when you’re not having problems.”

To me, if anyone sees inside my house, they see the face of depression.   The dishes aren’t done;  the laundry is in the middle of being folded on the couch; the furniture hasn’t been dusted in a month; general clutter is all around, and I am sitting on my butt.   But my child expects that when his friends walk in the door, they don’t see all of those things, because he doesn’t – that was a revelation to me.

The face of depression takes many forms.  For me, in certain circumstances it is the proper me with the sometimes genuine smile;  other times it is a pony tail, messy clothes and no make up; in my home its my jammies sitting on the couch sometimes crying, and usually escaping into a facebook game or old movie.  My family doesn’t see the face of depression – they see me.  And I cry as I write that.  The extenuating circumstances or my general appearance doesn’t dissuade them.   They see me – who I really am. 

The face of depression is never the true story of what is going on.   Some people are dying inside and look completely put together; while others appear un-kept or out of it.   I guess I’m somewhere in between. 

Here’s the lesson in all of this.   Never assume about a person by what you see on the outside, depression has many faces.