Belonging in a Lonely Place

Depression is an illness that many choose not to recognize and that flies under the radar far too often. It seems to only be noticed when something drastic happens, such as a suicide attempt. People with depression can only truly connect to others that have depression; this is the only way we seem to belong. My claim is supported through articles and Ted Talks that talk about a low sense of belonging in depressed individuals and that reach out to give comfort to these individuals. This topic also brings about the question of what belonging truly is and what it means. To someone with depression, someone who’s lonely and desperate for comfort, belonging means everything.

The night I nearly killed myself wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I went to school and it was terrible, then I came home. When I got home, I did my homework, even though I didn’t see the point; I knew I wouldn’t be there the next day. I forced a dinner down my throat, struggling through each bite. I took a shower so that I’d be somewhat clean when they found me. I went to my room, coming out only to use the bathroom, and at one point to steal my grandmother’s sleeping pills.

Everyone went to bed early that night, and I said goodnight and I love you to them all. It didn’t seem out of the ordinary for them. Waiting until I was sure my family was asleep, I went online. My main social media back then was Pinterest; I had friends from all over the world. We had a group chat and we were all depressed. I told them how I was feeling.

People with depression have a hard time connecting with others; this is because depression makes a person feel alone. According to a study by the University of Michigan, “A psychological sense of belonging is a greater predictor of major depression than other factors commonly associated with depression… the disease isn't always easily detected by friends or family members because those who suffer from depression often try to hide it.” This shows that it is hard for people with depression to really connect, even with friends and family. When someone has depression, they are both desperate for a sense of love and belonging and conflicted because they feel that they’re not good enough for those around them. It seems that the only people who want them around are the ones who are similarly suicidal, depressed people; they need you as much as you need them.

Typing, typing, typing. “I don’t want to be alive.”

Ping. “Me neither.”

Ping. “It’s hard to keep going, hard to see the point.”

Ping. “You can always talk to me.”

These are the people I know, the people who know me. I share my all with them; every second of every day, they know about everything. They know about the bullying and the eating disorder and the cutting and the burning, and anything else that was done to tear me down, by others or by myself. These people lifted me up. I lifted them up, too, but not for long.

Typing, typing, typing. “I want to kill myself.”

Ping. “Me too but it’ll be okay.”

Ping. “Me too but don’t.”

Ping. “Me too but if you don’t I won’t.”

These people know how I feel. They feel the same way. These people were my friends, trying to give me a will to live when I couldn’t do that for myself. We all want to take away the others’ pain. Maybe we do, but we all have the same pain, so nothing really changes.

I needed a break from them; I couldn’t disappoint them too much too quickly. And if I said anything about my plan without having already swallowed the pills, they’d talk me down. I couldn’t let that happen. I counted the elliptical blue pills. Even years later I remember that there were fifty-three melatonin pills in the bottle that night. I wondered if it was enough.

I’ll never know the answer to that question, I think. The morning after, no one could tell that anything was really different at all. It’s because I didn’t share with them because I knew they wouldn’t understand.

In a TedTalk by Mark Henick, Why We Choose Suicide, he talks about his experience with this, saying, “In fact, I was so normal, most people never would have guessed… And I know that some of you know that feeling too.” This quote reflects how people don’t really see or notice when a person is suicidal. They pass someone off as quiet, or they don’t think of it because the person doesn’t ‘seem suicidal’. Mr. Henick also makes a connection to anyone listening; he knows that this is something that people face every day silently and wants to make sure that they know that they’re not alone. He knows that talks about depression are often controlled by those who haven’t experienced it, which makes it hard for those who have to come out and talk about it. It’s difficult for us to feel like we belong, even in a conversation about us.

Typing, typing, typing. “I’m going to kill myself. I have a bottle of pills and I’m going to die.”

Ping. “Don’t, we love you.” A lie.

Ping. “Sara you’ll regret it.” I can’t regret if I’m not around.

Ping. “Sara your family will be wrecked.” As if they even care.

I took one pill. I took another. I stopped. I didn’t write my notes; I needed to. Writing each one I cry harder and harder, and I’m getting scared.

Typing, typing, typing. “I’m scared. I have to do this but I’m scared.”

Ping. “It’s okay to be scared.”

Ping. “You don’t have to do this.”

I just wanted it all to go away. I knew that they cared about me but I couldn’t stand it.

Ping. “Don’t do it Sara. That’s an incredibly painful way to die. You won’t sleep you’ll be in pain for hours and when your family finds you it won’t be clean, it’ll be messy and devastating. Devastating. The note won’t be enough. They will cry walking by your room for months and funerals cost thousands of dollars they don’t have. Put down the bottle and go to bed, Sara.”

That message kept me alive long enough to go to sleep without taking any more pills. The girl who sent it, her name was Lilli, and she lived in California. She lived halfway across the world, yet she was able to save my life. She was part of a network that I related to and that kept me alive through the darkest parts of my life. They understood how I was feeling and offered comfort, solutions that they had put to the test. They were the only ones I could connect to, and that chat was the only place that I felt the warm sensation of belonging.