Onika L. Dainty

The Heavy Quiet, When the Light Fades

Depression is not just sadness. It can feel like emotional dimming, identity loss, and disconnection from self, especially when experienced with Bipolar disorder.

When I am experiencing “low mood,” I feel completely numb to the world around me. My low moods are sudden, and the physical side effects are apparent. My energy feels completely drained, like a battery that has suddenly used its last drop of power and become a solid mass with nothing left to offer. Though it still looks like a battery, it may even appear as if the battery still has power, but it does not. It is essentially empty.

That is how I describe what depression does to my body and mind. It leaves me like a battery with no power. I appear to be myself, however upon closer examination, the first characteristic people say is missing is my “ever-present energy.”

I can remember the first morning I felt like a drained battery. I was 16-years-old, and my grandmother came into my room one morning, as she did every morning, to wake me up for school. She called out to me once, twice, three times, and although I could hear her calling, I simply could not move. I could not even respond to her in any coherent way.

After she walked out of my room to wake my little sister, I tried to move and couldn’t. I became fearful that something was seriously wrong, and it was. I did not have the energy to speak, and I felt extremely tired. Shortly after, my mind and body succumbed to exhaustion, and I fell asleep.

When I woke up, I was disoriented and still tired. My room was pitch black, and outside was covered in darkness. The trees were cloaked in shadows, and the only gleam breaking through the night came from the streetlights. I stared at those lights, wondering how I could have slept that long and why I still felt drained of all energy. I stared out my window at the glow of the streetlight until even that light faded into darkness, into sleep, into oblivion.

For some, depression comes swiftly, like a sudden shift. For others, it is a slower onset brought on by any number of factors. In my experience, depression can come on very quickly depending on the negative situation, such as death, job loss, post-hospitalization, medication changes, or even the time change during Daylight Saving Time.

It feels like one day I am functioning at my baseline energy level, then I go to sleep and wake up the next day unable to get out of bed. Externally, I may appear calm, but I am unable to show the fear and anxiety that would normally have my body trembling, or cry the tears of frustration my mind wants to release. Instead, there is a complete absence of emotional expression on my face and an internal heaviness that nauseates my stomach.

Depression does not always arrive loudly. Sometimes, it settles quietly and deeply.

This blog focuses on my lived experience with depressive episodes within Bipolar disorder. I will attempt to help you understand what depressive states feel like, how Bipolar depression can feel distinct from general sadness, and the emotional weight, identity shift, and internal silence that can come with it.

What Is Depression, Really?

Unlike sadness, which is usually situational and passes, depression begins for me when sadness does not pass. When sadness becomes a persistent low mood and emotional disconnection, I know I am starting to feel depressed.

When my grandmother passed away in 2004, I shifted from sadness into debilitating emotional pain that crippled me. I was unable to get out of bed. I started using substances to numb the pain, which quickly became part of my depressive journey. I was not simply lacking motivation for activities of daily living. I stopped caring.

I did not care that I was in my fourth year of university, my toughest year, or that I had thesis papers overdue. I did not care about hygiene practices like brushing my teeth, doing my hair, or taking a shower. The only thought I was fixated on was that my grandmother was gone, and she was never coming back.

I stayed in bed for days and weeks at a time, not eating, not really sleeping, but simply immobilized, staring at a fixed object, the floor, or the ceiling, thinking about her.

Grief can be a powerful catalyst for depression.

According to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, also known as the DSM-5, there are several types of depressive disorders, including:

 Persistent Depressive Disorder
Bipolar Disorder with symptoms of depression
Major Depressive Disorder
Seasonal Affective Disorder
Postpartum Depression
Psychotic Depression
Situational Depression
Treatment-Resistant Depression

Over the years, I have struggled with four of the above: Treatment-Resistant Depression, Situational Depression, Seasonal Affective Disorder, and Bipolar disorder with symptoms of depression. For each condition, depression presented itself differently.

With Treatment-Resistant Depression, which I experienced early in my mental health journey, I had night terrors, sweats, trouble staying asleep, and dangerous thoughts related to my own life. My psychiatrist at the time tried several different antidepressants with similar results and recognized that the depressive symptoms I experienced as a result of Bipolar disorder could not be treated with standard depression medication alone.

With Situational Depression caused by experiences like job loss or the end of a romantic relationship, I found that although I experienced depressive symptoms such as sleep disturbance and low energy, my moods would shift from day to day or week to week. Often, visits from friends, a good conversation with my mom, or support from another relative was enough to lift my spirits and give me hope that the depression would eventually come to its natural conclusion.

The depression that comes with Seasonal Affective Disorder has always been the most challenging for me because of how long it lasts. When Daylight Saving Time ends on the first Sunday in November, I can feel depression creeping into my system two to three weeks before. I become extremely tired as it gets darker earlier. I lose motivation for activities of daily living, and like an animal in hibernation, I sleep for most of the day, only getting up to use the bathroom or get something to eat.

My energy for tasks like writing or exercise becomes almost non-existent. This lethargy typically lasts throughout the winter until Daylight Saving Time begins on the second Sunday in March. There are pockets of energy during this time that allow me to perform simple tasks like cleaning my house, practicing good hygiene, going to church, or visiting my parents. However, these bursts of energy are few and far between.

Bipolar Depression: A Different Kind of Low

Bipolar disorder includes both high moods and low moods, each characterized by a unique set of symptoms. With Bipolar depression, those who experience it can feel emotionally flattened or disconnected from the world around them, especially from the people who want to help them in their recovery journey.

During these depressive episodes, it can be difficult to explain your internal emotional state. Often, the only words that come close are “empty,” “drained,” or “nothing.”

Bipolar depression is far different from general sadness because it can feel like there is no clear beginning or end point. One minute you are living, breathing, and part of the world around you, and then suddenly the world goes black, blurred, and empty. The space your world used to fill becomes hollow. You are empty.

You have no idea why it happened, how it happened, when it will go away, or even how you feel about being enveloped in nothingness. All you can do is wait until it passes and hope you make it through another depressive episode.

The depressive symptoms I experience as a result of Bipolar disorder feel like what I have just described. These symptoms come in cycles, usually lasting two to three weeks before my mind shifts back toward mania or psychosis.

Naturally, my baseline leans toward hypomania: high energy, high productivity. But when I am experiencing depression during a Bipolar episode, I become very still, and my mind cannot hold onto a thought. It feels like a brain drain. Where thoughts are supposed to live, there is only emptiness.

My limbs feel heavy, my body feels hollow, and I am unable to find my voice or speech. This depression is what I consider my most dangerous state because I am unable to communicate clearly with those around me about how they can support me.

This lack of connection can be the most difficult part of the episode. When you experience Bipolar depression, you are never sure when it will come to its conclusion or when you will reconnect with the world around you again.

Bipolar depression is not just sadness. It can feel like an emotional shutdown.

The Emotional Tug-of-War: Identity and Self-Worth

There is an internal emotional impact when you are experiencing a depressive state. A loss of identity and sense of self often come into play. You are more than sad when you are dealing with depression. You are in crisis and disconnected from everything and everyone around you.

I would often hear loved ones observe and say things like, “She’s not herself,” or “She is not full of energy like normal.” Even with the disconnection, you can still hear and feel, even if you cannot reason your way out of the depression. Statements like those have caused me to feel shame, guilt, and internal criticism.

I want to be the Onika everyone knows and loves, but I simply cannot. That is what many people who have never experienced long-term depression fail to understand.

Depression, low energy, low mood, staying in bed all day, insomnia, lack of appetite, low self-worth, loss of hope, and loss of sense of self are not choices. They are symptoms of a mental health condition. No matter what combination of symptoms I experience, they exist and have the power to change my identity.

When I discovered the concept of self-compassion years ago, I began practicing it during my depressive episodes. I realized that I am living with a severe mental illness characterized by both highs and lows. I cannot always dictate which one I experience or when, so I had to learn to show myself compassion and give myself grace.

If depression dictates that I will sleep all day, instead of forcing myself to move against it, I move with it. I make my bed as welcoming as possible because I am dealing with depression, and today, sleeping may be all I can do.

If I experience loss of appetite during an episode, the minute I feel real hunger, I eat something I truly love, like cheesecake for breakfast or a plate of pasta in the middle of the night.

I no longer worry about being the Onika everyone knows and loves because I recognize that I am still her. I am simply going through a human experience. Depression does not just change your mood. It can change how you see yourself, and I choose to see myself as someone who does not let depression define me or overtake me.

Instead, I move with depression until it is behind me, and I am able to move forward again in my journey to wellness.

Healing in the Darkness: What Helped Me Navigate It

It has always been difficult for me to communicate my needs to others while in a low state. Beyond ensuring that I am taking my medication or identifying the food I want to eat when my appetite returns, I have trouble articulating my wants and needs.

After so many years of having a solid support system in my family and friends, they are often more aware of my needs than I am. If I do not answer the phone after a few days, Grama Judie or my cousin will come by and check on me. Grama will tell me stories about the people in her life, and even though I am not really listening, she tries to make the connection.

My cousin will simply sit on my couch quietly, working away on a project while I sleep for hours at a time. The most he will say during a visit is, “You good? Do you need anything?” If I wave him off and growl, he just goes back to work. Sometimes he stays through the whole episode, and he always knows when I am coming out of it, when I start making my bed, signalling that the time to stay down is over.

When I am in a depressive space, it is really hard to write. I try to jot something down daily, whether it is the first two lines of a poem or a note about how I am feeling at that moment. My journal is never too far away.

At night, when my energy allows, I try to complete part or all of my nightly routine, which includes skincare, brushing my teeth, aromatherapy, and a grounding meditation. These practices usually happen when my mind is preparing to come out of the darkness, telling me it is time to start healing.

This is when I know depression is about to leave my body.

I have learned that it can disappear as quickly as it came, and I should always prepare for both its disappearance and its sudden reappearance. I have also learned to listen to my thoughts when they return. Whether they are telling me, “You need more sleep, Onika,” or “Go get something to eat right now,” I listen.

I know there is a period during my depressive episodes when the thoughts do not come, or they disappear too quickly for me to hear what they are trying to tell me. So when they return, and I can hear myself clearly, I listen.

Even in a low state, there are moments that slowly rebuild connection. The return of my ability to think clearly is one of them.

Final Thought:

Holding On When the Light Is Low

The return to myself starts with a glimmer of light. It is the light I see in my kitchen when I finally open my eyes and wake up from sleeping for a week. I turn my head toward the kitchen, and I do not immediately want to turn back to the darkness.

Then I lay there, staring at the low light, and I can hear myself thinking again. So I ask myself the question that always begins my return to me:

“Are you ready to get up and stay up?”

When the answer is yes, I begin my morning routine of bed stretching. I call out to Alexa to play CeCe Winans. I sit at the side of my bed, touch my heart, and thank God for getting me through.

I had to learn to trust that emotional states shift, high or low, over time. I had to trust that day one would come to an end, and day ten might be the day I am ready to get up.

In my experience, depression is about endurance, not resolution. Endurance with patience, self-compassion, and grace.

Since I was 16 years old, I have lived with some form of depression. I am 43 years old now, and I still experience severe symptoms. Depression is not going anywhere, so I had to place in my mind the ideas of sustain and withstand.

By definition, endurance means the ability to sustain prolonged physical or mental effort, withstanding hardship, stress, or fatigue to continue a task.

So, the only thing required of me was to endure, and I would survive depression?

I tried it, and it changed the course of this ongoing journey.

A big part of returning to myself was understanding who I became when symptomatic and who I am now that the depression has lifted. Holding on when the light is low means holding on to hope.

Hope that I make it through the storm.

Hope that there is sunshine after the rain.

Hope that I never give up.

Hope that I always reach for the light at the end of the tunnel.

Hope that I endure.

A Question to My Readers:

What helps you stay connected to yourself when everything feels distant or quiet inside?