How do I keep my friends while I’m depressed?

The loop you’re describing has been named, in one breath, by people inside it: I distance myself because I’m depressed — then people stop trying to talk to me — which causes more depression. You are not the only one, not remotely. The community’s playbook for it is small, gentle, and it works on the loop rather than on you.

Say so before you disappear. Silence has no caption, so friends write their own — rejection, something they did — and quietly stop trying. Twenty words interrupt all of it: “I care about you. I need some quiet for a while. It’s not about you.” People can wait out a stated absence almost indefinitely; it’s the unexplained kind that collapses bridges. And when you resurface, the honest version — it was my mental health, I’m sorry for the distance — is the one that repairs. The people who matter understand. Some come back closer.

Aim yourself at people in the smallest possible units. The loop runs on “after I’m better” — which keeps receding. The survivors’ counterprogram is structural, not heroic: one text or call a week, scheduled like medicine; answering messages within a few days instead of never. And if bridges have already burned, start where one person started: focus on who’s left, because they probably always will be — then build outward from that proven remnant.

Underneath both: treat the thing itself. Masking the depression so friends stop noticing costs energy the healing needs and buys company you can’t rest around. The illness works on motivation — it’s not a character flaw, and not a cheerfulness shortage — which is why the real playbook starts with real support: the treating-it page below carries the doors, including the affordable ones. And on the nights between, the warm line below is a human voice that expects nothing of you at all.