Tara Tomczyk 

Do I Cling to My Depression?

May 15, 2026

If you’ve been reading my posts at all lately, you know I’ve been struggling with depression on and off over the past few months. That’s nothing new.

Recently, as part of my ongoing quest to feel a little better, I’ve been reading a lot of self-help and psychology books. One of them that I started (but didn’t finish, at least not yet) suggested that people tend to cling to their neurotic behavior—whether it’s depression or anxiety or something else—because they derive some benefit from the condition and don’t really, deep down, want to change.

Naturally, upon reading that, I hurled the offending book across the room (not really; I’m an angry person but not a violent one, at least when it comes to books—people may be a different story).

But then, as I sat on the couch, brooding over the insult I’d just read, I had an epiphany:

The book? Was totally on point.

Now, don’t go flying off the handle if you suffer from some mental health condition. We’re talking about me, not you. (Yes, I know; that’s self-centered. Perhaps I’m dealing with narcissism on top of the depression?)

For me, the book’s assessment makes sense. Though I definitely did NOT enjoy the process of coming to terms with that knowledge, I realize now that it’s true. I DO get something out of my depression.

“What’s that?” you might be asking.

Easy. I get an excuse to REST.

As someone who’s been dealing with severe, lifelong insomnia on top of depression and, of course, a major case of workaholism, I’m basically running on fumes 24/7/365. For years, I’ve been pushing through, trying to ignore the fatigue while embracing the old “I’ll sleep when I’m dead” cliché as a virtual mantra. But then, last fall, when a depression hit that was too powerful to ignore, I realized I was more than “just” depressed; I was burnt the hell out. The ashes at the bottom of last year’s fire pit had more spark left in them than I did. And being so depressed that I didn’t leave my bed for four days was both horrible and, well, exactly the kind of rest I needed.

Yes, maybe in an ideal world, I would be thrilled to push a magic button and have all my depressive (and other) symptoms miraculously disappear. But in this world, which is so fabulously imperfect, I believe the book I read was (at least a little bit) right: I do, in fact, cling to my depression. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that I NEED it. Without it, I might never allow myself a break.

So, as odd as it sounds, I’m here to say thank you to my depression. Truth is, I think it’s working hard to keep me alive (even as it seemingly works hard to kill me). Maybe what I experience as misery is the depression’s way of protecting me from things that could be even more miserable. In its own way, it means well and it has my best interests at heart. And who couldn’t use a little extra help?