In the still of the night, in the world’s ancient light
Where wisdom grows up in strife
My bewildered brain, toils in vain
Through the darkness on the pathways of life
Each invisible prayer is like a cloud in the air
Tomorrow keeps turning around
We live and we die, we know not why
But I’ll be with you when the deal goes down.(1)
In just a few lines, Bob Dylan describes much of modern dread: every road a path of resistance, every work a Sisyphean exercise in futility, every pathway littered with burnt out lamps, every prayer a fleeting vapor, every tomorrow suddenly a forgotten yesterday, every death impersonal and frighteningly mysterious. These all speak to the deep psychological wounds of life and vulnerability, the trauma of living and loving, the thick of despair and depression. But the ending is what all who long wish to hear: “I’ll be with you when the deal goes down.”
It is hard and uncomfortable to be with people when they face these defeats, though. One of the reasons for this is that, simply put, we don’t want to be dragged down into the pit of despair with anyone. No one wants to be in that pit: neither the person who is in it, nor those of us who can’t imagine why they seem to want to stay there. (Hint: They don’t.)(2)
It is hard to describe depression to one who has not felt it in their bones. It is not mere sadness or pessimism, as I learned but a few years ago. The words that best describe the overwhelming and unshakable darkness inside of my head at the time are hopeless, forsaken, worthless, and guilty. Mere words can never express this extreme despair, though. It was this feeling deep within my soul of being separated from the world, my own self, and my God. Intellectually, perhaps, I knew of my status before God, but I did not feel it at all. One cannot simply “snap out of” this predicament. Most of the time, it feels utterly uncontrollable, and yourself inconsolable.