Sometimes, when I'm having a better day, I wonder if things are really as bad as I think. I was in a better mood on Wednesday and Thursday. But yesterday I found myself wanting to cry for no real reason. I was at work - not the best place for waterworks. I couldn't explain why. I still really can't.
I made it through most of the day without crying. And then I watched the news about Paris and I couldn't hold it back anymore. (At least it was a Beyoncé cry and not a full on ugly cry.)
I was a newspaper reporter on September 11, 2001. I don't have to say what a terrible day that was. Everything I did involved the terrorist attacks. I remember going home feeling drained and wanting a brief escape from the news. There was none to be had. Every channel had switched their programming to news coverage. I remember being sad and horrified for my country. I remember feeling overwhelmed. I don't remember crying.
I cried after Sandy Hook. But that was mostly for my friend, whose mother worked in the school. She had hid in a closet and they feared she was dead. If I had not had that connection, I probably wouldn't have cried. I would have been sad for the lives lost and the families affected. And I was. But I didn't cry until I heard from my friend. I just tend not to cry about these events, no matter how horrible.
But yesterday was different. I felt small and helpless. I felt despair for the world. I cried.
This is how depression works. It amplifies all of your negative feelings. I was just as small and helpless on September 11 as I was on November 13. I didn't feel small and helpless on September 11 until I saw that second plane hit. Yesterday I was already feeling small and helpless. The news just made those feelings bigger and harder to ignore. That was my confirmation that, this time, things are different.
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