Depression, therapy and a cry for compassion

Responding to Aleta by Josh Bridge

In my depression, I am self-aware. My attention grows sharper, more attentive to its present state of pain. It seems like Aleta, the titular character played by Sharon Oji in Josh Bridge’s short film, experiences depression like this too.

The film begins with her meta commentary on the process of therapy. Rather than answer how her day has been, she comments on being asked the question in the context of her sessions. She’s distracted, reading into the intent of the question: to answer honestly would be playing along.

In my depression, I don’t feel like playing along. Sometimes I have to spend the last of my energy pretending I’m okay. My depression feels like taking down the curtain and revealing the plainness of reality. How has my day been? In my exhaustion, sometimes I want to skip it. 

Then again, maybe it’s not such a big deal. There isn’t a scheme behind every ‘how are you?’: no secret judgement around mine or Aleta’s answers. So, she arrives at self-criticism: maybe we’re paranoid.

Within the first sentences of this film, I could predict what Aleta would say next in Gwyneth Ataderie’s screenplay, having spoken versions of this script myself. I nod along to each of her lines: “Yes exactly… Yes that too.” This familiarity saddens me, not only for the bleak content of some of our shared thoughts, but for how lonely it feels to think them. I feel guilty for feeling unwell, for feeling paranoid, for feeling nothing at all. It seems like such a waste of someone’s time, attempting to be present with them when I’m feeling so heavy. I feel unoriginal.

In my depression, I feel so alone, like I’m the only person in the world feeling that particular pain. The screenplay contradicts that theory: there are more of us. These feelings are more common than are talked about. We are not alone in that way. How can Aleta feel like an outsider when I have said everything she has said too? Surely, it’s not just the two of us? In fact, I know it’s not.

When I started telling people about my depression — one by one — I was surprised to find that every person I told had a personal way of connecting to it. They experienced mental illness too, or someone close to them did. I thought it was just me because no one said anything. The stigma around admitting depression deepens it, and makes it harder to acknowledge in ourselves, let alone seek help. To muster the courage to tell someone, with the last breath of effort, and not be believed? This is devastating to experience, often accompanied with an extra wave of guilt for being cumbersome to society.

One good thing I’ve noticed in the past year is more awareness around mental illness. My GP now has pamphlets on depression right there on the waiting room table. Two years ago, in this same building, there was a clunky process for getting anywhere near support. I had to book an in-person appointment, insist my depression was, indeed, that bad, fill out a questionnaire to be put on a waiting list to maybe see a therapist in six months, and be scolded for asking if there were any resources available sooner. A pamphlet would have been useful.

Fortunately, I had the funds to pay for therapy, but it was more than those paid private sessions that contributed to my wellness. Seeing my experience reflected elsewhere, like in this film, helps me feel more at peace with my bouts of unease. The presence of a pamphlet, sharing of stories, the simple act of tracking my sleep are all free ways to ease the mental burden.

The film closes with Aleta’s defeated statement that she’ll keep coming back to therapy every week “until I die or run out of money.” As well as the financial barrier to wellness, this line indicates the need to fulfil a role in our capitalist society to survive. It’s a valid fear: what if depression renders me unemployable?

My hope for Aleta is that she has a compassionate listener on the other side of the scene. It seems like she does. I hope that her audience is compassionate too. I’m grateful for this film to point to as an expression of my experience, so I don’t have to describe and reenact to others the pain I sometimes feel. By featuring solely Aleta’s voice and not the implied listener’s, the film centres her experience free from all judgment but her own. We are given her thoughts and expression, without any clues on how to react to them. So often, thoughts like Aleta’s are overrun with unsolicited advice on how to fix or make those thoughts go away. Aleta gives them space to linger and to just be.