Just because I’m depressed doesn’t mean I’m suddenly not an adult. In layman’s terms, I want to make it clear: Depression does not equal regression to childhood.
I say this because, almost without exception, people will talk to me like I’m a 4-year-old once they discover I’m suffering from depression. I wish this illness was so insignificant that a couple of well placed “atta boys” and maybe a little condescending baby talk could snap me right out of it. But, consider this:
If it’s so easy to cure that the random musings that soothe an infant worked to “fix it,” why are doctors, scientists, and researchers working so hard all over the world to find treatments? Just hire someone’s granny to wander around tickling depressed people and, violá, problem solved.
Yes, all the way around. I think it’s because other people are so uncomfortable dealing with something like depression that they revert to walking on eggshells and speaking in the most innocent of terms in order to keep from saying anything that would upset us. As if their speech is the end all be all of whether we recover from depression or not.
Hint, it’s not. Relax. Just be our friend.