How to Write a Goodbye Letter to Depression: A Recovery Writing Exercise

Saying Goodbye to the Voice That Told You to Disappear

Depression often speaks in commands: withdraw, stay quiet, numb yourself, trust no one, and disappear before anyone has the chance to hurt you.

At first, isolation may feel protective. It can create distance from conflict, anger, rejection, and painful memories. Yet the same walls that appear to keep danger out can also separate us from the people, routines, and sources of support that help recovery take root.

Writing a goodbye letter to depression is one way to make that hidden conversation visible. The purpose is not to pretend that depression can be dismissed through willpower or a few forceful sentences. Rather, the exercise allows a person to identify depression’s language, confront the coping patterns it encouraged, and reclaim authority over the story.

A goodbye letter may include grief, anger, humor, accusation, insight, and hope. It can name unhealthy attempts to numb pain without turning those choices into moral failures. It can also acknowledge what has helped: therapy, trusted friends, family members, recovery communities, creative work, and the decision to ask for help.

In the following letter, Milo addresses depression as an unwanted tenant who has occupied too much space for too long. Drawing upon the language and mythology of The Wizard of Oz and Wicked, Milo transforms a private struggle into an eviction notice. Depression is placed on notice: it may have influenced the past, but it will no longer be permitted to speak with unquestioned authority.

Goodbye Letter

Dear Depression:

I withdraw to feel better. To numb.

I isolate to protect myself from those who can—or could—hurt me. To prevent myself from experiencing triggers. To prevent myself from feeling anger.

But anger is on the opposite end of the emotional spectrum from depression. That is something you never told me. It is something I had to discover for myself.

To feel better, I had to seek help from other people: my friends, family members, confidants, and therapist.

Had you told me the true source of my sadness, perhaps I could have begun healing sooner. But you did not. Instead, I sank further and further into depression without recognizing the damage it was causing to my body and mind.

I searched for unhealthy ways to cope. At different points, I tried to numb myself rather than confront what I was feeling.

Those choices were hurting me. They were slowly eating away at my body and soul.

But I have learned that depression has a language. It has its own vocabulary.

I have been in therapy for fifteen years, and I am only now becoming aware of how much damage you have done to my body and mind. I hate that about you.

I am expressly asking you to vacate these premises.

Be gone.

You have no power here—just as Glinda tells the Wicked Witch.

But even Elphaba is a victim of isolation. We share that in common. Elphaba, however, uses her rage to advocate for the Animals of Oz.

I have been obsessed with the lore of Oz all my life.

Now I understand why.

So I ask you to depart. I am choosing peace, recovery, connection, and the tools that help me remain well. You are no longer permitted to convince me that isolation and numbness are the only ways to survive.

Consider this document your official eviction notice.

—Milo

A Note on Recovery: Reflective writing can support healing, but it is not a replacement for therapy, medical care, or a relapse-prevention plan. A goodbye letter may be most useful when shared with a trusted therapist, counselor, recovery professional, or support person.

If you are in crisis call or text 988.

Quotation: On the Process of Healing (And the Surprises of a Pandemic)

Time is usually the best medicine

— Ovid (43 B.C.E.-17 C.E.), Roman Poet

In this post, I get a little personal with Ovid's quote on time and healing.

A young boy dresses up as a physician for Halloween.

Is Ovid's Prescription for Healing On Point?

     Thank you, Ovid. You old miser of a poet. I think of you and your prescription on time when I think of my ankle. Ever since the global outbreak of the Coronavirus and nearly the entire planet in isolation — I have been off my legs more than usual. Staying at home, I can elevate my ankle even when I am working and I have taken to piling up a corner of my bed with pillows. I prop up my leg and watch whatever's popping on Amazon Prime Video. 

*snapshot of me looking not quite so elegant* 

      I am pitiful at self-care even though I preach it to my friends. "Self-care," I tell my work wife Amira, "Yes, mama." "No," I tell her when she imitates me. It's "Ma-MA" — you have to enunciate it like a proper gay homo sapiens. Of course, she reminds me that she is not gay (so how the heck would she know how to pronounce it correctly?) — but she loves my epithets and exonerations. I call Amira my work wife because she is. We work together at the same school and even though we had a rocky start to our relationship — she thought I was a creepy straight, nerd guy with glasses — we hit it off once she realized I am a flaming homosexual and yes, I'm still a nerd guy with glasses. Yay! Identity politics at play. And friendship. It comes in joyous bursts way more comforting than an ill-fitted ankle.

Ankle Pain and Estranged Boyfriends (And a Shoutout to My Work Wife, Amira) 

     I've had ankle pain in my left leg for, oh, about five years. It comes and goes. Short spasms of pain, then the pain subsides, and I forget about it. And like a surprise call from my estranged boyfriend, it returns — a familiar pain — I've almost become used to it. Like I've become used to my former boyfriend who sends me Facebook messages when I least expect it — a familiar cycle where I realize why we are estranged, what brought us farther apart. But. I like him. But the lingering sadness of why we broke up still remains. 

      Suffering is not an abstract concept. However, suffering is also not transitive — it does have a discernible object — it's there, you feel it but it's not like you can say, "There. There is my pain." I say, for instance, "I am sad. I am forlorn. I am aggrieved;" in fact, "I feel" is a grammatically correct sentence. But you cannot say, "I am pain." To say, "I suffer" is a close approximation, but even this utterance seems to lack the punch of an object, of a source of suffering. Perhaps that is why we call people who suffer, "patients" — since suffering (and by extension) pain — is a passive emotion, a feeling of protracted misery that takes time to heal.

Healing Wounds With the Best Medicine — Time

     One version of Ovid’s quote is “Time heals all wounds,” rather than time is a proper drug. I like the idea of time healing wounds — but did you know that Alfred E. Neuman once said time heals all wounds, except for your belly button? And I am fairly positive that Adam and Even did not have to worry about that particular wound since they technically did not have umbilical cords. Thank you, first parents. You made it suck for the rest of us.

The outbreak has brought me a strange gift of healing. I am grateful, right?

     The photo (above) is cringe-worthy. I step outside. How ’bout dat? And I say, “You did this for what?” Crossing the avenue to drop off mail in the blue U.S. Post Office box, I think, ‘Who will collect this? I hope they stay safe.’ I feel a tinge of worry. This feeling of needing to stay protected. How everyday activities have become tinged with anxiety. The social contract has taken a beating this season. It’s rainy. Today. And I just read in the newspaper that a polar vortex is set to hit the northeast. I long for a long hike in the Catskills. And for the fun of it - a visit to the sauna - I could use a peppermint soaked hot house shower - don’t you? And my ankle feels better. I am surprised. I feel strength returning to my tired tendons. A source of life has come back to me — a paradoxical gift of this damn epidemic. Thank you, Covid-19 — you ugly, mothereffer. Self-care, yes, Mama! (That’s pronounced Ma-MA).

PDF Copy for Printing

Quotation On Time by Ovid

Read a timely quote from Ovid, a Roman poet who lived in the first century C.E.:

Time is usually the best medicine

Temporis ars medicina fere est
Ovid, Roman Poet
43 BC - c. 17 AD

PDF Copy for Printing

Inspired by Armistead Maupin's The Night Listener: A Dedication to Mourning

I think Armistead Maupin wrote in his novel, The Night Listener, that sadness can be a physical thing, “wet and woolen” — he called it, a tangible entity that clings to us, heavy and damp. This poetic imagery captures the essence of how grief and sorrow manifest not just emotionally, but physically as well. Our bodies become the canvas on which our sadness paints its hues—sometimes subtly, sometimes glaringly.