The Unbearable Heaviness of Being

A Conversation With Depression

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“The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man’s body.The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously an image of life’s most intense fulfillment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become. Conversely, the absolute absence of burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being, and become only half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant. What then shall we choose? Weight or lightness?”
― Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

I sit, weighed down by my breath. By a broken spirit.

I’ve been here before. “Hello, old friend. How are ya doin’ today?”

It smirks and teases me with the slight intake of air one takes before a response, then stops; it isn’t going to answer.

I pause and look down, sipping on my alcohol-free wine. Holding the glass like a familiar old crutch that has no bearing on getting me from here to there — or wherever.

“What is it you want from me?” it finally whispers. Its presence is like a dementor sucking my life. “What do you seek here in the dark?”

“Lightness,” I respond.

It laughs.

“Is it better to feel with weight or feel nothing at all and float away?”

“Lightness,” I repeat.

My old friend knows me far too well. I’ve lived in its shadow since I was a pig-tailed little girl. It nursed me to the rhythm of self-soothing rocking and taught me that when I feel — when I feel, I feel too deeply. And when I turn away, I don’t feel a thing at all.

“But, Princess, now is not the time to run from me. See how my dark cloud hovers above? I’m here to remind you.”

“Please!” I cry. “I don’t need reminding. You are always lurking in the shadows. I felt, I feel, I will feel — it’s all I do, all I know how to do. Please! I need the sweet song of silence. Just for a moment. Just for a moment!”

Pleading is no use. You can’t negotiate with it. And its job isn’t to compromise with you. I am age zero standing before it. I am as much who I am now as I was a toddler when it first stood in the corner of my bedroom, lying in wait to pounce for the very first time at exactly the right moment. It looked like the shadow of a clown-shaped clothing holder that sat near my door. I hated that thing.

“Princess, the best you can do is give in and feel with me.”

“I don’t want to feel…I’m tired. I’m so tired of feeling all the time. In fact, I’m so tired of feeling that I’m numb. Can’t you see?”

If you can’t negotiate with it, why am I sitting here trying? Why are we going head-to-head?

“Look, I don’t want to be in the dark right now. Yes, I want to feel, but I want to feel light. I don’t want the burden of heaviness. I’ve had enough.”

And so it goes. We continue our dance until finally it wears me down and I collapse in a rage onto my bed, hurling my body hard into the mattress.

The nice thing about my depression treatment is that it gave me a few tricks of the trade. I may not be able to negotiate with it but there are things I can do to lessen the burden. Ways I can talk myself into remembering that to be heavy with burden is just as important in your life as to enjoy that freedom of lightness. To be heavy with burden is living. The key is what you choose to do with that weight.

Do you choose to let the weight suffocate you?

Or do you choose to use the weight as a balance?

Do you choose to let the weight darken your path?

Or do you choose to accept that you can’t float until you’ve first been anchored?

I know what I want to choose. Can I live by it?

My stomach twists and turns, rotting in a knot. I sit quietly as I scratch the back of my neck. I have hives from anxiety tonight. I didn’t ask to be here. I didn’t ask to be put in this position. Karma spits in my direction.

“Okay, you. I’m not going to negotiate any longer. But can we compromise?”

It shakes its head with a knowing smile. Right, I can’t compromise with it either.

“Fine. If you want me, take me,” I resign.

It isn’t going to take me. I’ve learned too much. It’s just going to stand there teasing me, reminding me that my faults, my choices, and my inability to fully trust will keep me weighed down just enough.

I stand in front of the mirror and we shrug. I look sad, but I’m feeling. I know that when lightness comes it will feel all the more sweet.

I walk to the door, where a clown clothes holder might stand—cackling in the shadows—and turn out the light.

Our conversation is done.