What a moving piece of writing by Irish writer Dervala. She is profound and clear in her description of depression.
"Like rheumatoid arthritis, depression turns your own body against
itself. It chews not on your cartilage, but on your brain cells and
your sense of reality. It’s as seductive as a wife-beater, shutting out
other voices to turn itself into your only friend. The only one who
tells the truth about the bleakness of the world. All your energy goes
towards getting through whatever stands in your way—struggling,
slogging, pushing, through work and small talk and getting
food—whatever it is you have to get through until you can be alone
again with the voice who can be trusted.
And the last thing it feels like is an illness. No, this monumental,
world-swallowing suckage sits outside you: it comes from the project,
the job, the love affair, the city, the family, or the decade. For me,
these low cycles have always led me to abrupt life changes. It’s a kind
of shock therapy: uprooting jobs, careers, relationships, and
countries. Those shifts feed the craving for anonymity and reinvention,
and they leave behind the shame of a condition that breeds shame."
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