“If you come to the dark and call, the Morrigan will be there for you:” On Depression and Blood Sacrifice

A few weeks ago I read the first volume of The Wicked + The Divine, a comics series about gods who are briefly reincarnated as young pop stars every 90 years. The plot was a little thin, considering the vast scope of the subject matter–the story is basically a whodunit–but I liked it enough that I’ll read the second volume when it comes out. I was especially excited to see the series’ portrayal of the Morrigan. The authors went all out on her triple nature, dividing her into Badb, Gentle Annie, and her “default” form who goes by Morrigan. After some theatrics by Badb and Annie at a performance art show in an abandoned subway station, Morrigan comes out with an interesting line: “If you come to the dark and call, the Morrigan will be there for you.”

Yeah, it’s a plot device; Laura, the main character, does go and call on the Morrigan for help later. But the line struck a chord with me, and not just because it’s totes something the Morrigan would absolutely say.

My approximately 2.5 faithful readers may notice that I kind of disappeared for the last six weeks. Partly I was finishing a big writing project on deadline, and I had to devote all my energy to that. But mainly my depression flared up and I spent some time in the Underworld. I’m proud of myself for still finishing the big project while sick–in fact, it may have even buoyed me–but I didn’t get much else done. Plus, hostile blog comments are huge triggers for me, so there was no way I was going to risk getting swatted at while I was in a low period.

It’s easy to believe, what with the Morrigan being a dark goddess and all (she’s “goth goth gothity-goth!”), that depression will become a spiritual experience if you work with her. You’ll plumb your depths and embrace your shadow or whatever. The truth, though, is that while spirituality can alleviate depression, it’ll never turn depression into a net positive. If you’re anything like me, depression numbs you and wears you out. You don’t have the energy for altar work. Trances suddenly feel cheap and stupid. All that woo seems supremely pointless; the TV is much more inviting. This isn’t to say that everyone stops practicing their religions when they’re depressed, of course. But religion, like everything else in your life, becomes harder, not easier.

All of which is to say that I didn’t practice much witchcraft during those few weeks. Yet that line—if you come to the dark and call—still resonated with me.

Here’s another thing that happened: my cutting problem came back. I did a lot of self-injury in adolescence and my early twenties, and I was able to stop for a long time until I had a child and experienced postpartum depression. Now, because the stress of parenting saps my resources, I’ve had a harder time refraining over the past few years. Red markers are a useful substitute, but there are times when they’re not enough. Once, I heard another witch talking about how if you’re working with the Morrigan, blood sacrifice is mandatory. You have to give her your blood, or else…well, she didn’t exactly know what would happen if you didn’t, but she knew you would super regret it! Like all dogma, beliefs like this one fall apart under the slightest scrutiny (Shall we have a double-blind randomized study of blood sacrifice versus no blood sacrifice?), but what really struck me about it was how pernicious it could be to people who cut. The second-to-last thing you want, when you’re trying to keep from cutting, is an excuse to do so. And the very last thing you want is the idea that an invisible being with power over you is demanding it.

So if I said barely two words to my matron goddess while I was depressed, and I’m actively trying to avoid this practice that some people are certain she wants, then why was that line running through my head throughout the whole low period? Maybe because, as hokey as it is, that Hallmark parable about the footprints on the beach does carry some truth. If you reach out to the divine–even the “gothity-goth” divine–then the divine stays with you even when you don’t have the resources to perceive it. Maybe, for me, “coming to the dark” doesn’t refer to the descent itself, but rather the acknowledgement that the passageway is waiting. I called to her when my depression was manageable, and she stayed with me when it wasn’t.

Sometimes you work with a deity because they embody your ideals. Sometimes you work with one because you have something to offer each other. But sometimes, there isn’t an immediately clear reason. Sometimes you work with a deity simply because they understand you. They get it. They’ve mapped the terrain you’re traversing.

To everyone else out there struggling with mental health issues: stay safe and know you’re loved.