An Open Letter to the Depressed Aspergians
This is dedicated to you, or someone you know.
Someone you know nearly and dearly, this is a person who might mean the world to you; someone who you care about deeply, someone you would never want to see cry or feel pain.
Someone once wrote that “Depression is not a happenstance cut or opened scab; you cannot simply cover it with a band-aid, kiss the covered wound and say that ‘it’ll be okay.’ ” That person dealt with depression without even knowing it; being told that they weren’t really being serious when they cut open their arms. Someone who was called a number of inappropriate names for not “finishing the job.” At home or at school, at work or in public, this person wanted to vanish off the face of the planet, fearing that their life was not worth a dime.
You are reading in this article the words from a survivor: the scars on my body and my soul will never heal, but signify that life is worth more than you could ever imagine, which is more than all the money and love in the world. You are seeing the life of someone that was able to get the help they needed to realize their importance and tap into their full potential with the love and help from their friends.
The social cliches downplay the seriousness of intervention and assistance throughout constant media, and in this world in which we live there is a shadowy epidemic. Masculinity and stupidity walk hand-in-hand, as does the catty attitudes of numerous people who believe that depression is all in the mind, not worthy of proper attention such as in the cases of well-known maladies such as cancer. That is not to say that there are not any good people or causes that have broke their backs to save a life each day, and they are to be commended. They are the knights in shining armor, regardless of their vices or sins.
You can be one of them, and let me tell you why.
I always felt that whenever I talked about my feelings, people simply brushed it off and told me to toughen up, or signified that I should, judging from their glances, stances, or aloofness whenever I opened my mouth. “Since I am a man, I need to just tough it out, because I’ll be considered weak,” that’s how I took it, and that’s what lead to the deterioration of my self-respect, my self-esteem, and my will to live.
It takes only one person to tip the scales in or out of your favor. I was lucky, and I was saved. You know how? My friends listened, they let me speak whatever I needed to speak, and they let me cry. Yes, I was able to cry and be myself. They listened, and I realized that I needed help. I remember crying and saying “please help me, I need help.”
The next day, they walked with me to the local therapist, and I got the help I needed.
I implore all of you, any of you who know someone who suffers from depression -especially if they have autism- to sit them down and listen. Do not belittle them, do not doubt what thoughts could be swimming through their heads and treat them like adults. Let them speak, show them affection, and don’t, don’t, DON’T give up on these people.
I believe in them, and I believe in you, their saviors. Their friends, their loved ones.
Thank you for reading this all the way through, and thank you for never giving up.