It’s loneliness, not depression
When I was talking to potential publishers about Lonely, the question that came up time after time was, “Aren’t you just depressed?” I found this question maddening. I wasn’t depressed. The problem was long-term loneliness. But most of the people around me just assumed I had “the blues.”
I wrote a guest blog for the Huffington Post on this issue a few weeks ago. (Note: I got the name of my book wrong!). My main argument, which I stand by, is that people say they’re depressed because depression isn’t as stigmatized as loneliness, and because depression is less threatening than loneliness. Loneliness, after all, refers to gaps in our social lives, and that inevitably involves other people. It’s precisely the people closest to you who might not want to hear that loneliness is a problem.
I think it’s important to sort out loneliness from depression. Many lonely people are on anti-depressants, whicn they might not actually need. I think that loneliness is harder to treat than depression, but talking about and trying to treat depression when the problem is loneliness won’t amount to much. It’s much better to try to tackle a hard problem than to miss the mark completely, and go after something else.
This entry was posted on Wednesday, June 9th, 2010 at 10:09 am and is filed under the category Long-term Loneliness, Stigma of Loneliness.
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7 Responses to “It’s loneliness, not depression”
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This is a really good point. It’s interesting that we are seeing levels of depression increasing at a time when social connections aren’t as stable as they used to be for previous generations. Perhaps it’s loneliness that is increasing instead.
Very interesting point; worth investigating further. Although anyone who’s suffered from clinical depression can definitely distinguish between that and loneliness.
When I read Lonely I was overwhelmed by how accurately it described my life. In many ways finding the book was a relief, but reading it was also an incredibly difficult thing to do. I found myself reading small sections and then needing to put it away. It was a little too close to the bone.
For a long time I thought that it was depression I was struggling with, but after doing some research I realized that it didn’t quite fit. I began to feel that in order to seek some sort of treatment I’d have to alter the truth to fit within a diagnosis. And so I didn’t. For years I have told myself that seeking treatment would be self-indulgent, that there is nothing objectively wrong with me, that my consistent sadness is merely self-absorption. I often remind myself that I have a good job, a roof over my head and food in my belly, and to focus on the thing I don’t have means that I am ungrateful for the things that I do. I force myself to be social, I tell myself to think positive, I volunteer like crazy, and throughout it all I feel profoundly alone. Most of the time, I am alone.
I realize that my loneliness has had a significant impact on my life. I wonder if it will ever change. It’s terrifying to think it may not. But as you said Emily, the stigma of loneliness is a tough, tough thing. Prior to reading the book I was hesitant to admit it to myself. Around others, I put on a happy face, I lie, and ironically, get complimented on my “independence”.
I’m not really sure what happens now, but I do feel better equipped to seek help. I would like for my life to be different.
Thank you Emily.
I commented here previously, asking whether the lonliness you described was a form of depression. Since then, having read your book and also these blog posts, I see that the difference between the two is important to you and that you find the question ‘maddening.’
Apologies. I didn’t intend to repackage, misdescribe or minimise the state you describe as lonliness. I experience the lonliness you describe so well.
I feel I’m still struggling to understand something: isn’t there at the heart of lonliness some difficulty in creating or experiencing intimacy? The social environment contibutes, of course, but it’s not only thing – even when in the company of others, the lonely person still feels lonely, as you say.
To me it feels as though the ‘human warmth’ function has been switched off, so that intimacy becomes impossible even while I crave it.
I had always thought of that as an aspect of depression – the inablility be spontaneously human, the terrible bell jar feeling of alienation.
Whatever causes this, whether it’s biochemical or environmental or whatever, isn’t it an experience that lonliness and depression (I mean the isolated, alienated kind of depression) have in common?
Am I failing to understand something here?
Anyway, as others have said, it’s wonderful to have a forum in which to discuss this experience. Thank you, Emily.
Lesley
It is a viscous cycle because trying to deal with lonleiness can cause changing in eating, sleep and exercise which can lead to depression – it can be a double whammy. Exhaustion can lead to more isolation and a cycle can start. So I think the lonely person is always struggling to be alert as to what is real and how to overcome the side affects of loneliness. I have a genetic history to anxiety, depression so it is like always being on sentry duty.
Upon reading the blogs comparing loneliness to depression, my own experience is that the two states are completely separate but often intertwined. I have suffered from both loneliness and depression for years. I take medication to treat the depression and this has helped immensely to have a more balanced and normal state of mind. However, the loneliness is still present and often rears its ugly head to remind me that I don’t fit in with most people. The common mindset seems to believe that loneliness is something we choose. Believe me, I would never choose to be lonely. It is an affliction, not an option. Being lonely is definetley not the same as being alone or enjoying one’s solitude.
Loneliness makes me feel isolated, abandoned, ridiculed, unwanted, unloved, and inferior. I HATE IT!!! Sometimes, I wish I had never been born.
A family member actually adds insult to injury by frequently stating that I have no social life and no friends. The same individual has made it clear that she would rather spend time with people whose company she enjoys. Another person I know, will brag about where she’s been and who she invited but would never think to include me in her social group. This type of behaviour points out the problem but does nothing to bring about a solution! I don’t feel accepted or included by he very people that are closest to me.
Loneliness is very misunderstood. I can actually say that I have felt like this since I was a child. I wonder if we are genetically programmed from birth to be lonely. Perhaps there is something about people that suffer from this condition that turn other people off and keep them from wanting to be with us. It’s like being blamed for having cancer.
When I have the occasion to be at a social gathering, I often find myself watching how people interact with one another so easily and exchange friendly banter and laughter. I have also noticed that those that interact usually keep to their own social circle and rarely include strangers; thereby, the lonely person is rarely included. It’s the old “two’s company, three’s a crowd” mentality. Could it be that the person that suffers from loneliness has a heightened sense of mistrust or fear of rejection that sends off an aura that repels others?
Emily, I thank you for this opportunity to express what I’ve been experiencing. I feel like this forum has given me a chance to vent.
Emily,
I learned of your book and blog after reading the November/December 2010 Issue of AARP. Thank you for sharing!
I am a 42 year old single woman who has struggled with loneliness for years. I was treated for depression which was helpful, but I found that my treatment did nothing for the “loneliness” that gripped my life had has held it captive all of my adult life.
It was only after reading your article that I learned that feeling “Lonely” was real and not necessarily a symptom of depression. For I could be in a good mood but feel a since of anxiety about dealing with loneliness. No meds took care of that nagging, crippling pain.