In the Swamps of Sadness: ‘There is one sign, and one sign only — and that sign is if I tell you’

Chloe Ann-King
Sep 1, 2018 · 12 min read

“Check in on your mates.”

Those are the words which fill my Facebook feed whenever one of my friends takes their own life, and in the last two years alone I have lost three friends to suicide. Checking in on your mates is often the intervention tactic that many people offer up as a solution to suicide or a mitigation strategy. And I get it. We wanna believe there is a quick cure to curve our nation’s staggering suicide rates which are the highest they have ever been since the 1920s.

When the news broke that well known and loved news reporter Greg Boyd, had committed suicide, many heartfelt responses poured in. And just like when someone that I know personally suicides, one of the most prominent and widely repeated reactions was, once again: “check in with your friends”.

Sharyn Casey who is a radio host on The Edge, spoke emotionally about our rising suicide rates with Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern shortly after Greg’s death. Jacinda said that she had read many Facebook posts stating things like ‘check in on your strong mates.’ A sentiment Sharyn, agreed with, she also said while tears trickled down her cheeks that she had suffered horribly from anxiety and depression since she was eleven years old. I felt her pain deeply. I have battled depression and anxiety since I was a teenager and now I have an extra diagnosis of chronic PTSD. Fun times.

Thing is I suffer from daily thoughts of suicide even though my friends check in on me everyday and I am sure Greg’s mates did the same. In fact there is not a day which goes by when a friend does not check in on me either by messenger or phone call. They closely support me in non-judgemental ways. But what I need is for this close and non-judgemental support to reverberate into a wider culture because at the moment my support is contained to just my friends and peer support workers.

Mental health advocate and activist Mike King said in response to Greg’s death and while talking on the ‘signs’ that someone might be suicidal:

‘There is one sign, and one sign only — and that sign is if I tell you.’

I don’t always know how to reach out and “tell someone” that I am feeling suicidal. And the reality is my mates aren’t mind readers. They can’t always check in on me. What I need is for the weight of societal whakamā (shame) which surrounds mental health to lift, so I don’t feel like I constantly need to cover up or hide that I am feeling suicidal and depressed. So that I can “tell you” that today I am not feeling so great. Instead of desperately hoping and preying one of my mates checks in on me, for that day. We need more than just individual people checking in on each other — this has to be a community effort.


Last Thursday I spent most of the day walking around the burbs of Sydney (which is where I am living at the moment) crying and just feeling an overwhelming sense of sadness, and I was thinking I should ring my mate Luke, or someone. But I couldn’t — I felt too embarrassed. I’ve come to name this sadness the ‘Swamps of Sadness’. These swamps are part of a fictional world called Fantastica in the German book Die unendliche Geschichte (The Neverending Story) and subsequent film with the same name, The Neverending Story. The hero, Atreyu, is given the burden of saving Fantastica from a formless entity simply called The Nothing, which is slowly destroying Fantastica. During his quest Atreyu and his horse Artex, must cross the Swamps of Sadness so he can speak with the ancient and wise turtle Morla, who can help him save Fantastica from The Nothing.

Atreyu knows if you do not keep moving through the Swamps of Sadness, the mud and water will suck you down and you will slowly drown. While wading through the thick mud of the swamps his horse stops moving and begins to sink slowly — the sadness becomes too much for Artex. Atreyu screams and calls Artex stupid, he tells him he loves him, it’s all in his head, and to just keep walking, but it’s no use. Artex slowly sinks below the surface of the swamp.

Anyway, I’ll get back to the point: I was thinking I should ring my friend Luke because he has this way of cheering me up and he also has a mental health diagnosis of anxiety and depression, so he gets it. He often rings me when I cannot bring myself to reach out and ask for help when I am desperately wishing that I could. And like many times before when the Swamps of Sadness has been sucking me down, he called me. And if he doesn’t call me another friend often messages or calls me.

Being able to speak with a friend like Luke who I know gets my shit, lessens my sadness and reminds me that other people understand my emotional pain. But this doesn’t cure my suicidal ideation. It just lessens it for that day. Checking in on your mates’ is one thing but we need this non-judgmental care that Luke and my other beautiful friends show me, to reverberate out to wider society. As Mike King went on to point out on the Am show,

“Now, the problem we have in New Zealand society and all around the world is the problem isn’t the person in crisis. It’s the rest of us who aren’t in crisis, but whose often judgemental attitude is having the biggest effect.”

What stops me from reaching out in the first place is the immense whakamā that I feel because of the heavy stigma associated with mental health. I know my friends get it. I know they love me. I know they don’t judge me but I know other people, do. I am already judging myself pretty harshly so I don’t need you to do it as well. I have an awful bully in my head who tells me that I am a ‘useless piece of shit’ and convinces me that I am ‘weak and a total failure’. My bully wants me dead. My bully wants me to drown in the Swamps of Sadness. What my bully says to me is then compounded and legitimised by our dominant narrative in Aotearoa, which preaches the gospel of ‘get hard or go home.’ Let’s face it our national tagline is: she’ll be right, mate. Mike King talks about this bully or what he calls the ‘inner critic’ during his Am Show interview,

“More work needs to be done talking about normalising the inner critic, letting people know you’re allowed to have a suicidal thought — this sounds really bad, but you’re allowed to have a suicidal thought…

I know 90 percent of New Zealanders have had a suicidal thought.”

And 80% of all people who have a suicidal thought will never ever ask for help. Mike bought up a crucial and perhaps life saving point when he said we need to normalise talking about the “inner critic” or what I call ‘the bully in my head’.

Most people I speak with who are suffering deeply from depression and often anxiety as a dual diagnosis, tell me that they have horrible mind chatter. I called my friend Luke and read him what Mike had said and asked if he suffers from an ‘inner critic’ and he responded saying “yeah, everyday.” I asked how this inner critic effects his daily life? He said “It is completely debilitating.”

He told me that because he is very successful in his field of work that despite his depression and sadness, people assume that deep down he knows that he is talented and successful but he tells me this isn’t true. I asked Luke to expand on what he meant:

“Mental health [depression] attacks the very essence of who you are. There is no ‘if I get rid of all this shit I will find the real me.’ This is the real me and it is broken. I feel like the best part of me is broken.”

Just processing the fact you have mental health issues can be a major hurdle, let alone facing the wider societal stigmas. Luke explains how difficult it has been for him to except his diagnosis:

“Fuck this [depression and anxiety] hasn’t gone,” he told me… “This has become a fixture. I have to start thinking about it long term. It is something long term. Maybe this is permanent. Maybe this is who I am. That is hard to fathom. This is hard to accept.”

Luke bought up an important point when he said that he might need to start thinking about the “long term” in regards to his depression. Far too often people tell those with depression to ‘pull your socks up and just get on with it.’ This usually translates to ‘just get the fuck out of bed and function like the rest of us.’ When what would benefit many of us who have mental health issues, is developing a WRAP (wellness recovery action plan) this is something I did with Connect which is an addiction and mental health organisation who offer many free support services. Anyone can come along to their facility and develop a robust wellness plan with the support of peer support workers, and access many other services such as respite care.

You know how there are Doomsday preppers? Well, I am now a highly skilled Depression Day prepper. After developing a WRAP plan and thinking a lot about what happens to me when I get very depressed, I now know, and accept, that when I get very depressed that I cannot function properly — just eating becomes an exhausting task. I have small tactics to mitigate this like, I always have a frozen pizza in the fridge and I pre-make food which I know gives me comfort like cheesy vegetable bake that has three different cheeses and all the butter (I don’t earn much and the cheesy bake costs around .50 cents a serve and I can freeze it). I make sure I always have a big bottle of cold water in the fridge because when the cold water hits my throat it reminds me that I am here, I am alive. Cold water gives me comfort. I don’t know why. It just does. Whatever works for you works for you. Sometimes surviving depression is a moment to moment, thing. And that is okay.

If you don’t eat and drink enough water you deprive your body of the very basic things it needs to function. Therefore your mood will drop even further so eating and hydrating is a survival tactic to mitigate some of the symptoms of severe depression. Pre-planning meals when you can, is a survival tactic. DoomsDay preppers have nothing on us Depression Day preppers. We are already surviving the end of the world.

When I am in the Swamps of Sadness again, I eat my shitty pre-frozen pizza and cheesy veggie bake. I force myself to drink cold water. I try to be very conscious of my ADLs (attention to daily life) which includes: having a shower, opening my curtains, eating food, and forcing myself to sit outside for 20 minutes because I know vitamin D is proven to improve your mood. I try to go for a walk each morning with the goal of buying a coffee, if I can afford one.

Undertaking some of these acts of self care and basic life admin can feel physically painful when I am very depressed. Therefore achieving them is a big deal for me and as such worth celebrating: *I open my curtains*. Fuck yeah! Best believe I’ll dance that out (then fall into bed and cry and refuse to leave my room. Baby steps. I have depression).

For Luke some of the stuff that helps him when he is feeling incredibly sad and depressed is that he watches sports clips, even clips from 20-years ago. He tells me this bring him a quick escape and takes his mind off how he is feeling. I’ve got another mate who also suffers from depression (yeah, most of my friends have a diagnosis) who, at the moment, finds joy in looking through Trademe which is Aotearoa’s version of Ebay, for seaside Bach’s for sale (Bach’s are Aotearoa’s very humble version of the holiday home.) She dreams of owning one, one day, which cheers her up and it gives her hope for the future. I find comfort in seeing a movie at the theatre during the week in the middle of the day, because I usually have the entire cinema to myself. I can escape into another world for two hours.

An example of the humble Kiwi Bach.

All of these little things can become part of your big WRAP and you don’t even need to call it a WRAP. Ya’ll can call it a Survival Plan or a ‘FUCK YOU I AM STILL HERE’ plan or anything you want.

Something else which has really helped me is that I often use te reo (Māori language/The Language) to describe my mental health journey. I find Pākehā clinical terminology that frames addiction and recovery and mental health, very limiting and sometimes even stigmitising. I’ve started to see my wellness plan as a hikoi which translates to a long personal and political walk, and on the way I find others who will walk with me like Luke, and all my other mates. I use the te reo word whakawhuntanga which is the process of establishing deep and life-long relationships with others, to describe my life-saving connections with my friends and whanua. I add these words into my WRAP and frame my wellness plan as a hikio that is deeply connected to whakawhanaungatanga.

Framing my mental health issues with te reo empowers me, whereas Pākehā framing around mental health often makes me feel isolated and disempowered. Pākehā language fails to describe what I am feeling but te reo, never does.


This is what I need people to understand about my depression: contrary to wider belief my brain is not broken. I do not have a chemical imbalance. I am not fucking crazy. My pain is real and palpable. And sure, pills can help and are often prescribed precisely because most doctors believe my brain is broken. These pills can sooth my anxiety and clip my depression but they do not erase what has happened to me. Like most people who suffer from mental health issues I have endured immense trauma and emotional pain. I am a survivor of abuse and sexual assault and I have endured horrific violence in my life.

The fact that I am still here is a living and breathing memoir that speaks to my ability to survive what should have, already, killed me. Please remember what I have just told you before you tell anyone who is battling depression to just “toughen up.” Here is an idea: why don’t you just shut the fuck up before you tell someone like me to “toughen up”.

When my depression is at its worst I feel very fatigued, I get muscle aches, I feel lethargic, and I cannot think clearly which is often called ‘brain fog.’ My body hurts. Everything hurts. Depression hurts. I chant to myself, “this is just a moment and all moments pass.” I pray for the end. I pray that it will get better. And it usually does. I know I am loved. I know that I will get through this because I have before. I am toa. I am toa. I am toa. I am loved. Please, I need this to stop. Please, someone call me. I don’t know how to ask for help. Luke, or my friend Kiki, Sam, or Simone, or someone… usually calls or messages me. I have community. I have a reason to stay in this world. Breath. Just breath. I listen to the Pearl Jam song Just Breath and it calms me down. I love Pearl Jam. Whatever gets you through the sadness:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XTb9GNIxpMk

None of these things like watching sporting clips, watching a film, searching for a Bach by the beach, pills, te reo (the language/indigenous language), understanding the causes of depression, or listening to music fixes everything because suicidal ideation and depression are very complicated. There is no quick fix for depression but all the tiny little things that bring you joy, understanding, and connection, can become part of your WRAP.

On paper I look like a highly motivated and, I guess, successful person because I have achieved four University qualifications including two post graduates, and I have been accepted into a masters program starting next year. I am a published writer both internationally and nationally and I am becoming a regarded expert in the field of workers’ rights in my home country of Aotearoa. I have everything to live for including friends who love me and I love them, with every part of soul.

I am proud of what I have achieved both academically and in my career, but I am even prouder of the fact that I have managed to open my curtains to let the sun in on days when I just wanted to fucking die. I have let the sun in when The Nothing is destroying everything.


Please email me at king.chloe@gmail.com, if you would like some guidance on starting your very own WRAP, if you aren’t yet comfortable contacting an organisation like Connect, or live in countries such as America so the chances of accessing proper mental health care that is free, are one in a million.

Also I am a freelance writer and workers rights advocate much of my mahi is volunteer and unpaid. If you would like to support my mahi, you can contribute to my Patreon. Or you can donate directly to my PayPal: king.chloe@gmail

Chloe Ann-King

Written by

New Zealand based writer, workers & welfare rights advocate. Proudly working class. You can find me on the picket-line, the protest ground or at the beach.

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