Writing Gave Me a Lifeline in Battling Depression

In July of 1967, I turned eighteen. I had just completed my first year towards a Bachelor of Arts at Marianopolis College in Montreal. During the summer, I worked as a 411 operator at Bell Canada. The pay was good compared to what my classmates found. However, I hated the job but needed the money to support my education.

Life at Home

My mother worked in a factory. My father, plagued by his own issues, had abandoned us for the third time. He went back to Italy, the country we had emigrated from in the early 1950s. Good riddance, I thought. His oppressive absence should have made life easier for my mother, my younger sister, and my brother, but it didn’t.

The damage from his brutality had warped me. It drove me into despair, even though I didn’t understand my feelings at the time. I lived each day trying to cope with confusion and hopelessness. I hid them well. I pushed through day-to-day life. I attended school, worked, and socialized with friends. But at home, I was alone with my thoughts.

The Writing Journey

In my small room, shared with my sister, I found solace in writing. I often sat on my single bed or in my classes, and wrote about the black clouds of despair growing larger in my mind. This darkness felt like it would consume me.

Writing became my lifeline. Each word felt like a small victory against the chaos in my head. It was how I processed my feelings, and it gave me a sense of control. I needed to express the turbulence within me.

Scribblings from the 1960s

On An Afternoon

My god

The sunlight is rushing

Through the window

And my mind can think

Of nothing but words

The voice is speaking

Of Prussian history

And my eyes hear nothing

But pain

There are colours and hair

But I don’t love them

There is time

And there is light

But I resent them

I see ink

I see chalk

But, no, I don’t hear them

They will not let me hear

Nor let me see

Objects are mute

Sounds are black

These lines reflect what I was feeling. They illustrate my inner turmoil. Writing poetry provided a way to articulate an experience that felt inexpressible. It turned my suffering into something tangible.

Present Condition

I am freed

But I cannot choose

I am dead

But I cannot let go

My life is compressed

I have been reduced

To the lowest common

Denominator

My brain is being kept alive

In a clean glass bowl

The rest of me is gone

Except for my soul

Which is awaiting trial

These words captured the bleakness I encountered daily. The sensation of being trapped in my own body, yet yearning for liberation, echoed throughout my writing.

The Healing Power of Writing

Writing became an outlet for my emotions. It allowed me to confront and understand my feelings. I began using the written word to explore my grief. I would write late into the night. The quiet moments alone were when I could truly reflect. I poured my pain onto the page.

Gradually, I discovered that expressing my thoughts and feelings lifted some of the burdens I carried. Writing was no longer just an escape; it was a path to healing. I started to see my experiences as if they were part of a larger story.

Finding Clarity Through Expression

Eventually, I learned that facing my emotions was essential. Writing taught me to navigate the depths of my despair. I understood that it was okay to feel lost and heavily burdened. My vulnerability became my strength.

Through each poem, each story, I found clarity. The more I wrote, the better I understood myself. I started to see light amidst the darkness. This journey through writing opened avenues for healing. It became a critical instrument for addressing my mental health.

Conclusion

In conclusion, writing played a significant role in my battle with depression. It became a connector for my thoughts and emotions. Through the written word, I was able to divulge my pain and confront my inner turmoil.

Combating the weight of depression is daunting, and each person's journey is unique. However, I can confidently say that writing could be a lifeline. Whether through journaling, poetry, or storytelling, it offers a chance to process complexities. It is a viable outlet for those struggling.

If you are battling similar feelings, I encourage you to explore writing as a therapeutic outlet. It might just save you, as it did for me.