The “Black Dog” of Depression

By Kermit Klaerner

Special to The Abilenian 

 

          Since depression is a mental illness still being experienced by many persons, the article about the “Black Dog” of depression published in October 2003 is still relevant.  The article is based on Kathy Cronkite’s book On the Edge of Darkness and gives insights about what it is like to live with depression.  Cronkite writes:

          “I’m afraid the black dog has really got me.  Churchill’s image of despair suits me better than ‘the black hole.’  A black hole just swallows you up.  Would that it were that easy, to sink down into darkness, as if sleepeing.  But this dog, this dog!  It crouches in the corner of the room, waits for me to make a move.  Or lies at the foot of the bed, like a shadow, until I try to get up.  Growls, and will not let me up.  I go nowhere alone; he is at my side.  He stands between me and any other, while I’m looking good, staying calm, smiling to disarm his ferocity.

          “Little things overwhelm me:  I can’t find the mate to my sock.  I break the yolk of the egg.  The doorbell rings while I’m on the phone.  I can’t cope with the little things while he’s there.  I have a date.  I cannot see how to get dressed for it.  The dog stands in the way.

          “I walk outside, it’s the first day of spring, sun shining, breeze wafting, birds singing—so what?  My baby gives me one of those dazzling you’re-the-only-one-in-the-world smiles—so what?  My best friend calls with good news, my boss gives me a raise, my husband cooks my favorite meal—so what?  None of it touches me, nothing makes me smile.  I’m one beat off, one step removed from all around me.  I don’t shower, brush my hair, or make the bed.  I wear the same clothes night and day.  I cancel appointments, or just don’t show up.  I call in sick to work.  I don’t answer the phone—it’s too much work to put on the game face and sound normal—though I’m very good at it, up to a point.  Sometimes I actually feel ill, or just off, or chilled. Curling up under all the covers with my softest, snuggliest jammies on—doesn’t help.  There are things that should be important, things I need to do—pay bills, attend a business dinner or a child’s school play—but I can’t.  The simplest decisions are overwhelming and reduce me to tears—how much to tip, what to buy for dinner.

          “And when I drive, the dog rides along, and I think, ‘If I just turn the wheel—now—it would all be over.’  I pass the crystal shelf and see myself shattering the precious glass and running a shard across my wrist.

          “The dog and I stand a moment too long in front of the cabinet staring at the Drano and thinking, ‘I wonder what would happen if I drank it?”

          Although Kathy Cronkite is no longer suicidal, she states that the weight is still on her shoulders, the stone is still in her stomach, her face wears a tight mask.  But now she knows what is dogging her!  The world is not crumbling.  She is not crazy, or bad, or lacking in faith or discipline.  She has a disease. It’s called depression! 

          Studies in the United States show that about 5 percent of the population can be diagnosed as having major depression (that’s about 5,500 persons in Abilene).  At least 10 percent of Americans (that’s about 11,500 people in Abilene) will experience major depression at some point in life—and some researchers place this figure as high as 25% (Dealing with Depression:  Taking Steps in the Right Direction by Pfizer, Inc., 1996).

          Kathy Cronkite is a vital example of how depression can be controlled in most people through proper talk therapy and medication.  Depression is a brain illness which should be approached and treated like any other life-long, physical illness, and your understanding of what persons with depression are feeling will  help you help them.

 

Kermit F. Klaerner is the executive director of the Mental Health Association in Abilene.  Mental Health Matters is sponsored by the Mental Health Association, phone (325) 673-2300, e-mail mhaa@bitstreet.com.  Need help?  Call the Hope Line (325) 673-2300.