To my friend who is depressed and sick and overweight and sad

It’s the time of year when it’s dark for a lot of the day, and it might not seem like there’s that much to look forward to. Many parts of the country have snow and no power—both unusual and frightening. I know you’ve had surgeries and are in pain. And I wanted to tell you I love you.

I can see your mental health struggles. I can see you fighting with social media—wanting to be a part of it and getting jealous of those who have what you think you want. You want to turn it off, but then can’t. And then you get mad at yourself for not being strong enough or whatever.

I can see your struggles to get out of bed. COVID doesn’t make it easier to get healthy, especially when it’s snowing. Low finances make it hard. Depression makes it near impossible.

And I want so much to swoop in and save you. Because I’ve been depressed and sick and overweight and sad. Depending on which one of those you’re talking about, at times I’m still all of them.

I’ve gone through life looking for a way to kill myself. A low level depression turned acute, and I got so depressed I couldn’t work or function. Throughout my whole life I’ve eaten my feelings instead of felt them, too scared to actually feel icky emotions like anger, jealousy, hate, sadness, rage. I’ve put off conversations, said yes when I meant no (or vice versa), and ignored the deep wishes of my heart. There have been times when all I did was cry.

Now, though. Now I feel this bone-deep happiness. I went to the doctor yesterday and he asked how I was doing. My reaction—with no artifice or planning—was to smile genuinely and say, “Great!” Because I honestly am doing great. My doctor looked at me like I was the sunshine in his life. That he was amazed someone wasn’t doing badly.

How did I get from snow-darkness to sunshine?

Not all at once. Not right away. Not without help. Not without focusing on it. Not without doing a lot of work, making a lot of mistakes, trying things that didn’t pan out, and making a fool out of myself at times. Not without changing things, going out of my comfort zone, or being open.

But the key thing that I did—and that I can’t do for you—is I decided, once and for all, that I was going to get better.

I didn’t make that decision and magically get better. Honestly, it took about eighteen months before I started feeling somewhat like a person. But I knew I was going to do whatever it took to feel better.

I do, however, remember when I made that decision. It was in a mental hospital, having been strip searched and feeling as low as I could go. It was when they took away my shoestrings and the underwire in my bra. It was when I was surrounded by other mental patients, some who heard voices or were screaming. Some who were crying. Me? I was quiet and stared out the window. A mountain lion came right in front of the window—not four feet away and ate a gopher right in front of me. In two bites. It was so close and so far away.

And I saw its wildness and naturalness while I was locked in a mental ward. Its freedom.

It was then I decided I wasn’t doing this—feeling this bad—ever again.

Now, I didn’t know how I was going to fix it. Part of my recovery was being humble and trying things I previously thought I was too good for. AA meetings even though I wasn’t an alcoholic. Meds. Taking time off. Journaling. Reading. Exercising. Changing my diet. Listening to YouTube videos and doing workbook pages and trying, trying, trying. Going to therapists. Getting a personal trainer. Going into debt to be able to get better.

I feel like I’ve written about this before. I know I’ve talked about it before. And I don’t hide it.

But the crucial thing I did was decide that I was never feeling that bad again.

I don’t think you’ve made that decision yet.

I know that mental health issues can get in the way of making that decision. And I understand that completely. Please do not take this letter as a judgment, because it is not.

I have so much to say to you. So much love, so many suggestions. I have tons of resources for you, should you want recommendations. Books, videos, courses, audiobooks, and whatever, to help you.

But nothing I say, nothing anyone else can do will help you until you decide that you’re worth saving.

You are. Worth saving.

It makes my heart hurt to think of you in so much pain, because I’ve been there, feeling nothing but numbness and anxiety. I’ve had body image issues. Self-esteem issues. Financial problems. Relationship. All of that.

For the most part, I don’t anymore. Seriously, none. I’ve had a streak of beautiful days, punctuated with a few “real”/low days, but for the most part, life is great.

The point of me saying all of this is not to brag. It’s to give you hope that you can get better.

You can get better.

Let me tell you, all of the things that are bothering you, hurting you, are solvable problems if you decide you want to solve them.

A corollary to the decision to get better is to decide that you love yourself enough to do it. And that’s a tough one. It might be enough that you decide you are willing to entertain the possibility that you are lovable. That you deserve all good things. That you deserve to be healthy in body and mind. Financially successful. Creatively fulfilled.

Happy, my friend. You can be fucking happy.

Maybe you can make that as your decision—that you are willing to commit to exploring, for real, whether or not you are lovable.

(Because you are. And I can’t wait until you realize it.)

So what I wish for you is that you take the time and stop beating up on yourself for what you’ve done or think you’ve done. Stop looking around for what you wish you had. Stop being mean to yourself. Stop the regrets. You only have this moment. Everything else is just a construct.

I wish you could see what I see. I wish you could see someone worthy of being whole. Someone who deserves to be happy, healthy, rich, and artistic. Loved. You already are loved.

Can you take the baby step to decide to get better? And then you have to return again and again to that decision. That you will get better.

Because if you decide that, and truly decide that, there’s no way it won’t happen.