I have battled and won and battled and lost against Depression for almost thirty years. And this morning I woke up and realized that once again, I am engaged in battle with this invisible, soul-crushing, heart-breaking, joy-stealing, anger-inducing monster that I now recognize as Depression. I used to think that it was me. Believed that I was just a worthless human being, devoid of those traits that make humans truly good and happy beings. But it’s not me. It’s Depression. And it is here, occupying my head and heart for all it’s worth.
I’m tuning into my inner workings enough to recognize and admit that it is Depression at work bringing me deeper and deeper into the darkness and not various life circumstances or the behaviours of those around me that causes me to burst into tears at the slightest provocation (kind or unkind), snap at or even yell at my children and feel myself withdrawing more and more into myself. For me, this is progress. This is my bizarre version of personal growth, mutant personal growth, perhaps.
Over the past ten or so years and until very recently, I had shut myself off from my feelings well enough to ignore when Depression is sitting on my chest. I ate. A lot. I lashed out. I was moody while saying that everything is ‘fine’ and then quick to push the negative feelings aside and plaster on a smile in order to make amends to every and anyone I had offended, upset or angered with my behaviour. I cried at least daily. Believed every lie Depression told me. But the caregiver/mother/nurturer in me refused and still refuses to let everyone else down. So I always have and always do carry on with my daily routines and tasks that are expected of me. I take care of the house and my family. I keep appointments and go to my part-time jobs and alll the while, I’m dying inside from sadness.
And I know that it is impossibly stupid for me to feel this way. I have all the comforts one could want. I have a wonderful home, children who exceed the normal limits of loveliness, a husband who goes to work every day to support all of us, I have plenty of food and clothing for everyone. I’m not drowning in debt or addiction. In other words, I have no excuse and no right for feeling so absolutely defeated, downtrodden and heartbroken, but I do.
I sometimes wonder if I would win my battles with this hairy bastard faster, easier and more often if I gave myself permission to stay in bed occasionally, to not make dinner once in a while and just let myself really feel the pain and wallow in it for a spell. And then other times I think that’s the craziest thing that I could do, because what if I were to let go and was never able to crawl back into the light?
So, with more questions than answers, more darkness than light, I will continue my (mostly) silent battle, continue to put one foot in front of the other while constantly reminding myself that Depression is a lying bastard and everything is going to be okay. And maybe if I tell myself that often enough, I’ll start to believe it.