Darius the Great Is Not Okay(78)
While I steeped the tea, Dad pulled down a pair of cups for us and set them on the kitchen table. And then he sat down and waited for me.
We had started doing this, most nights, after Star Trek.
We sat together and I told him the story of my day. It was our new tradition.
I poured his cup, and then mine, and brought it up to my nose to smell it. Dad copied me.
“Hmm.” He wrinkled his nose. “Lemons?”
“Yeah. And floral notes.”
He sniffed again and took a sip.
“It’s good.”
“Yeah. Smooth.”
We sipped and talked. I was a little nervous to tell Dad what Coach Fortes said, but he surprised me.
Stephen Kellner was full of surprises these days.
“Don’t let him pressure you,” Dad said. “But if you want to do it, we’ll all come cheer for you.”
“Okay. Maybe. I don’t know if I’ll have time. I was going to try for an internship at Rose City Teas next year.”
“Paid or unpaid?”
My ears burned. “Unpaid.”
“That’s okay. It would be good for you.”
I stared at my father—Stephen Kellner, the übermensch—with his fingers wrapped around a teacup, drinking fine Ceylon tea, and telling me it was okay to take a job that didn’t pay, in a field that was nothing like his own.
“Really?”
“Really. You love it. Right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, then.”
* * *
We finished off the pot, and while I pulled down our medications, Dad put the kettle on for another round.
“Something less caffeinated, though.”
Mom and Laleh wandered back in as I set a pot of Dragon Pearl Jasmine on the table.
“This smells like sabzi,” Laleh announced. She had elected not to use an ice cube, since it was steeped at 180o and not a full boil.
“It smells like Babou’s garden,” Mom said.
We sat around the table, drinking and laughing and smiling, but then we got kind of quiet.
It was a nice kind of quiet. The kind you could wrap yourself up in like a blanket.
Dad looked at me.
“You okay, son?”
“Yeah, Dad,” I said.
I took a long, slow sip of my tea.
“I’m great.”
AFTERWORD
In telling Darius’s story, I wanted to show how depression can affect a life without ruling it—both as someone who lives with it, and as someone who loves people living with it.
I was twelve years old when I was diagnosed with major depressive disorder, and I spent four years working with my psychiatrist to find a medication (or, as it turned out, a combination of medications and counseling) to manage my symptoms. I count myself very fortunate: Because my family has a history of depression, my parents knew to get me treatment, and provided the support structure I needed. I was fortunate too that my depression never led me toward self-harm.
Depression takes different shapes for different people: For me, it took the shape of comfort eating (a lot). It took the shape of avoiding school for a month because I couldn’t drag myself out of bed and face the morning. It took the shape of not doing my homework because I couldn’t see the point in anything.
Even now, it sometimes takes the shape of staying at home, playing mindless video games, when I don’t feel up to engaging with the outside world.
Living with depression can mean getting stuck in cycles of misunderstood motives, of always imagining the worst in people, or thinking they are imagining the worst in you.
It can mean pushing people away because you don’t think you’re worth their time.
It can mean taking medication to stay alive—to combat self-harm or suicidal ideation—even if it dulls parts of yourself you don’t realize are there. (It’s absolutely worth it.) It can mean imagining that the people who love you will never love you enough.
But depression can be just as hard to witness as it can be to live with. It’s frustrating to love someone and be unable to help them.
It’s frustrating to repeat the same cycle of misunderstandings over and over again.
It’s frustrating to constantly tell yourself that, if you could just figure out the secret, you could make everything better—but you can’t.
No matter what, though, depression doesn’t have to rule your life.
If you’re living with depression, there is help out there.
If someone you love is living with depression, there is hope for them.
It takes patience, and kindness, and forgiveness.
I’m still learning how to take care of myself, and learning how to take care of those I love.
If you’re learning, too, there are resources available.
National Alliance on Mental Illness: nami.org
Anxiety and Depression Association of America: adaa.org
Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance: dbsalliance.org
Crisis Text Line: www.crisistextline.org or text HOME to 741741
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: suicidepreventionlifeline.org or call 1-800-273-8255
The Trevor Project (LGBTQ Lifeline): www.thetrevorproject.org or call 1-866-488-7386
Trans Lifeline: www.translifeline.org or call 1-877-565-8860