sometimes you’re doing fine and the next you’re not. that’s the strangest thing about depression.
for months now, i’ve been riding a nice high, living life with a smile and stepping forward. it’s been almost easy, finding things to be happy about. but what happens when you suddenly feel out of sorts and you don’t know how to handle being sad anymore?
june was a difficult month to stay motivated, i slacked on my monthly goals, constantly felt tired, and my irritability grew. it was a steady downhill, subtle at first. as the weeks passed, i became exhausted, completely disintrested, and before i knew it, i was just unhappy. for no reason. the worst thing about these kinds of struggles is in a way you feel like you’re suffocating because you can’t seem to take a step back and rest. it doesn’t feel right calling out sick for work just because have no will to get out of bed and live your life. you don’t want to make your loved ones worry about you for being down, so you put on a smile and try to remember how you acted when you felt normal. you keep wearing yourself thin.
i didn’t even want to communicate my feelings to anyone because i felt like by talking about them, i was acknowledging that something wasn’t right, and by doing that, i was giving it power.
i have been scared; frightened, even.
it wasn’t until i lashed out at the person i love most that i realized that i couldn’t keep hiding the lingering depression underneath the surface and i finally reached out for help. something about seeking help feels so pathetic, like you can’t do it on your own. but i have to remind myself what my therapist says, “someone living with asthma isn’t pathetic, the lungs aren’t functioning properly. so someone with depression isn’t pathetic. the brain isn’t functioning properly to give them the right chemicals to be happy.” even though i know this, i just feel so overwhelmed by how dependent i am on others and thus the spiral into hopelessness runs deeper.
after confessing how bad it had gotten again to my best friend, she insisted that i take some time to myself. i scheduled myself a little mini-vacation, and took some time off work. i slept, i rested, and i only did things i felt like doing. i felt refreshed. i didn’t have to pretend to be anything to anyone. but once work loomed ahead, i began feeling like i was choking again and suddenly the days i took off felt like they were for nothing.
i hoped that perhaps by writing, i could release some tension, and convince myself that things are going to be alright. i’ve been begging others to tell me so, but i know if i can’t believe it myself, then it won’t be.
i keep reminding myself to take it a day at a time. i know that this is just a temporary obstacle, and i can conquer it just like in the past.