Doug Kreeger faced coming out of the closet as a teen, and somehow in the years that followed taking that big step, he couldn’t share his other secret– that he struggled with depression. We discovered his second “coming out” story via the Huffington Post, but the excerpt below is from the original essay he wrote for his own site. If Doug’s account resonates with you and you recognize yourself or someone you love in his story, speak up. Please click the link below this excerpt for his full essay.
I never planned to share this deeply in a public forum, but after the suicide of Robin Williams on August 11, and the resulting flood of discussion, opinions, and confessions regarding depression and mental illness in the news and on social media, I can no longer fight this need to share my own journey. For most of my friends and family this will be their first time hearing this.
Depression has been a daily struggle for me for as long as I can remember. The feeling is with me every day to varying degrees, without regard to circumstance. When it hits hardest, it is a heavy, physical, draining ache that stretches the length of my body, from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet. Most notably, my stomach presents a hollow, churning, sinking feeling, and I feel inexplicably exhausted. The simplest tasks feel impossible, like eating or showering or standing upright. Depression falls over my brain like a warm blanket, a deceitfully soothing feeling which insists that my only option is a full retreat from human interaction, while the alternative elicits major physical and mental anxiety. What’s more, my depression deviously convinces me that my self-destructive thoughts are real.
Every joyful, transcendent moment I have experienced in life, either while playing a character on stage or while sharing moments with friends and family, has also coexisted with the deep pain and sadness I secretly carried. Often I would find solace and validation in these theatrical fantasy worlds because I was allowed to be ugly, imperfect, or damaged, and audiences literally applauded my exercises in emotional exorcism. But later, as I sat alone in my apartment hurting myself physically and emotionally, the audience was silent.
As I transitioned into my late 20’s, and as I continued to retreat further into the chaos of my thoughts, I found it harder and harder to be on stage, or to even interact socially offstage. I was scared that people could see my painful struggle, and I was ashamed. My stage fright escalated to uncontrollable levels, and connecting with people via music became impossible to endure. Meanwhile, I increasingly managed my fears via various methods of self-medication and substance abuse, without any satisfaction.