The prison of insignificance – A life sentence of depression and keys to finding your freedom
“Depression has many guises. It can be the mask of loneliness, the veil of insignificance, the not good-enough-ness cap or the scarf of sadness and grief. Let’s try on that they are different, but part of the same outfit.” ~ Janelle Fletcher
It can run and leap on you at a moment’s notice, or it can secretly slither around your body until it wraps itself around you like a strait-jacket. It can feel like your long-lost friend who you know well, or an enemy that you want to vanquish with any energy you do have.
It can begin with a known trauma or incident, or it can come seemingly unencumbered with no major life story attached. What I do know is that depression is heavy. Sadness is heavy. Loneliness is heavy. Feeling insignificant or unnoticed is heavy. What one desperately cries out for is to see the light between the prison window bars as a sign that there is life beyond the darkness of depression, and to know that a key is available to unlock the cell that has confined them in their own prison, and perhaps even kept them safe for so many years.
Just as crimes are named and labelled, so too is depression widely the label of what could be more accurately described as something else. My own life sentence of depression is perhaps better described as my prison of insignificance. For me, 11 years was a long time to sit in my familiar prison of isolation, aloneness and insignificance. I sat quietly in my cell that I had created for myself, and by myself, from the age of 13 until I was 24, yet I never understood until hindsight granted it to me, the reasons behind my self-incarceration, not only within my bedroom and in my social community, but also within my own body that was also shrinking in insignificance in the form of anorexia.
My prison cell existence consisted of me staying under the radar, having set times and routines for what was familiar and safe for me, excelling in my own world of academia and study and by closely and rigorously training my body like a master or mistress of obsession and compulsion – all in aid of having some kind of control that would allow me to feel my life, and I, were not out of control. I exercised madly in the exercise “yard”, came out for rations of bread and water and low calorie food, was part of several groups, but somehow didn’t belong, and suffered the craziness, heaviness and intense loneliness in my own cell of silence. Even the prison guards didn’t know of my pain and heaviness. The occasional visitor into my life didn’t know. The world at large didn’t appear to notice or care, or at least say something. I was a master of disguise, showing my well-perfected smile, calmness, rationality, discipline, success and got-it-together-ness, occasionally interspersed with monosyllabic answers, periods of obvious isolation and sadness and finally an unsuccessful suicide attempt.
Many of you will recognise the prison of insignificance and not good-enough-ness which may feel like depression or lead to it, but which I believe is something in itself. I did not understand what lead me through the prison doors of insignificance and invisibility at age 13, but now as a mature woman with self-awareness through years of personal and spiritual growth, healing and a recent insight, I do know.
The day Nana Mary died was the day I died inside. As a young 13 year old woman, I remember awaking to the news of her passing. I was distraught like never before. The pain was excruciating. My best nana, my best friend, my jam and preserve-making, lolly-giving nana with the chamber pots under her beds was no longer there. I never saw her again. I never heard her encouraging voice. I never smelt her roast dinners again. I never got to wander to her outside toilet. I never saw her at my dance performances or receive another 50 cent piece for doing so well. I never got to stand with the other old ladies on the thrift shop stall selling their wares, nor tinker through her jewellery treasures.
Out of excruciating pain I didn’t want to go to her funeral. I went because I had to. I wanted to see her in her coffin to say goodbye. I didn’t or wasn’t allowed to, which was perhaps a sign of the times. I don’t remember the social gathering after the funeral but I do remember the big yellow car that took us down and around the bays and who was driving. I don’t remember what I did with my tears, but they didn’t come out. I didn’t know what I did with my voice, but I lost it. I didn’t know what I did with my loneliness, but I know it got hidden somewhere. That Sunday was the same as any Sunday dressed in our pretty home-sewn dresses. That Friday before was like any Friday. But the Saturday I got the news, the world was forever different.
It is only now in hindsight that I view this loss in my life from a different nook and cranny. It is now in hindsight too that I see the patterns of my life tapestry that emerged from this moment of intense loss and the lingering and long days, weeks, months and years of feeling unheard, unlistened to, misunderstood, abandoned, uncuddled, unworthy and unnurtured following my Nana’s departure from my life. It makes sense why I have felt I have walked the world alone – literally and figuratively. It is apparent now how my mask of competence, confidence and got-it-togetherness and my serving and supporting of others being paramount over my own needs, have both been means of protecting myself from such intensity and pain of not only losing her, but feeling the intense loss of not being allowed to be vulnerable, sad and angry and not feeling held, heard and comforted in the way and degree that I needed as a young girl of 13.
Where I found the comfort of a shelter, a hammock and a fireplace was not in people, but in the comfort and confines of the pursuit of self-worth based on excelling and perfection. That is what I knew. That is what I knew how to do well. Anorexia and bulimia, depression and suicidal thoughts became my intimate friends who would hang with me, hear me out and would reduce or dull my pain, yet ironically forge me into agony that would blow my mind, destroy my body and kill my soul. Eleven years, in essence a life sentence, were spent in that lonely, dark cell. If escaping into the safety of my familiar cell was not sufficient to dull my pain, keep me safe and isolate me from others, my next escape was to travel the world. Even there I found no friends, no lover, no parent-figure, no saviour and no nurse to soothe my wounds and take away my pain, despair and anguish that followed me round like a bosom-buddy in my backpack.
I have always been drawn to help the lost and the lonely, the forgotten and the grieving. My early growing up memories were of befriending the “handicapped”, chatting to and holding the hand of the elderly in hospital, teaching the young new skills, dreaming of cuddling children in African orphanages, writing to World Vision kids, marrying into a family who had suffered grief and disability and choosing service and helping-based professional roles. My own personal transitioning through eating and body related disorders, depression, suicide attempt, fertility issues, miscarriage loss, molestation and blended family dynamics amongst others has given me the gift of wisdom and compassion and afforded me the skills and talents I share with others who want to be held and heard, who want a haven or place of belonging, who want to see light through the dark tunnel and who don’t want to ever feel alone, discarded or unworthy.
It was a year or so ago when I met several mothers grieving from the loss of their children through suicide. It was through a valuable conversation which I had with a grieving mum that completed another part of my life jigsaw. Her question was not “Janelle, why did you choose to attempt suicide one day?” but “Why did you choose that particular day?” A very revealing question indeed which had me initially giving tangible, logical answers, but which later through dreaming and intuitive leadings revealed that I attempted the same Labour Weekend Saturday that I received the news of my Nana’s passing, albeit 11 years later. My intense and lingering loneliness, feeling of abandonment, unworthiness and insignificance wanted to be set free by meeting my beloved Nana again, not at a conscious level, but at a deep, soulful and subconscious level.
It was also not with conscious choice that I abandoned the need for my parents or family. I did need them and want them, and to some degree I left them. What I noticed was their “let’s get on with it” and “today’s another day in the calendar” way of being with life, and their loving outpouring to others who were needy and who wanted rescuing or saving. I envied these people intensely but ironically decided I would never be needy again. I could do it all on my own. I would walk this world alone and I would deal with my own pain by finding my own way. It was not with conscious choice that I shrunk into insignificance and unworthiness. I yearned for approval – whether I was happy or sad, good, bad, ugly, fat or thin. I yearned to be real, to speak my truth, to express myself authentically and emotionally and to be supported not betrayed or persecuted, accepted not told I wasn’t good enough or bad, loved not left, cuddled not cursed and appreciated, not devalued or discarded.
My life changed and I released myself from my own prison cell after my unsuccessful suicide attempt. I could no longer do life on my own. I could no longer punish myself and sit out a further life sentence. I could no longer seek solace in isolation and I yearned to somehow affirm that I was good enough and significant. It was now about approving of myself, not proving myself.
My “get out of jail” keys lay in recognising what I needed in my 13 year old pain and seeking out what would gift me a sense of peace, belonging, value, worthiness and connection to others. I learned to hug myself and wrap my arms around those who needed a cuddle too, to be kind and charitable, not only to myself but to others, to be more nurturing in my self-talk, to listen with an open heart to others and unearth my wisdom with them, to hammock myself in comforting and nourishing activities, rituals and company and to on-offer the hammock or fireplace that my nana offered me. Most importantly I learned to connect with the Divine who is ever-present within me and sees my greatness. I am never alone. I am indeed significant, and the heaviness of depression has been lightened as I have become more enlightened and come home to myself and the essence and uniqueness of me. My key to freedom has also been in shining the light for others who are experiencing the darkness and isolation of their own prison.
The shackles holding you in your prison can be broken and you can also find your freedom. Remove your mask of loneliness, the veil of insignificance, the not good-enough-ness cap and the scarf of sadness and grief by seeing yourself in Divine Light, shining your unique light and being the change for others.
Unlock your door to freedom, for you hold you own keys.
How am I tired? And how are you tired?
