My mother is clinically depressed, and has been on and off for as long as I can remember. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was depressed before I was born, and she probably had PPD without even knowing it. Now we’re 20-some years ahead, and living with a depressed parent brings many challenges.

According to my therapist I’m not depressed, but I do think I am a “depression cameleon”; whenever my mother has a good day, I have a good day. When she has a bad day, mine couldn’t be worse. I suck up part of her sadness and internalize it, simply because I do not know how to built a shell to protect myself against these negative feelings.

I am always very intrigued by the different way depressed people look at the world. There are seemingly small things that can make or break a day for someone who suffers from depression. Things people say that wouldn’t matter to anyone leave another person awake at night, or actions that are not a ‘big deal’ are blown out of proportion.

A classic example of this occurred yesterday: I’ve been sick with a really bad sinus infection/cold for a few days now, and yesterday I had to teach. It was my first real day ‘on the job’ and I did not, and could not, call in sick. After she unsuccessfully tried to make me stay home, I went anyways and had a good time dispite my voice sounding like a drunk toad. However, when I came home something my mother said made me realize once more how fundamentally different depressed people look at the world.

“When you went to work this morning it reminded me of when I worked for Piet when you were little,” she said, referring to a commission based sales job she had when I was growing up.

“I was so sick one day and had a high fever, but went to work anyways,” she continued, “and I didn’t even sell anything that day. Seeing you do the same today… it just reminded me of that.” The sad tone she used to express herself indicated this parallel really upset her. She was really sad that I had to go to work sick, and saw it as proof of how greatly “we suffer”.

Personally, I just saw it as an inconvenience and something nice to complain about. However, actually going in made me feel better, and even if I would have been sicker I would certainly not see it as a testament of my personal “suffering”.

This illustrates how depression transports people to a different world. They see the world we live in in a completely different way, and the frustrating part is that nothing you say seems to permeate.

How do you experience your world? Are you mostly negative about little setbacks, or do they not affect you?