Let’s just get this out of the way.
Yesterday I was lying in bed as I thought how much easier it would be if I just took all the pills in my medicine cabinet and ceased to exist.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had those thoughts.
So long in fact I thought it was a joke. Surely I can’t be back here? I’ve been good for over five years. Sure, I had a slip up here and there, but I’m good! See! Functioning! SO GOOD.
Cody sat by my last week and said “You haven’t been well since November.”
When I asked those closest to me what they thought, they agreed. And not just one person, but many.
This caused me to give up me resolve to keep faking it.
I fell apart yesterday.
Big heaving ugly cries into the bedspread and an emergency trip to my doctor.
Today I have an emotional hangover and one of the worst cry headaches I’ve had in over three years.
Once I stopped listening for the other shoe to drop I began to believe there wasn’t another shoe, that I would be okay as long as I kept taking my little white pill every night before bed.
While there are a lot of people who continue to advocate and talk about depression and mental health even when they are well, I was so tired of suffering and fearing the betrayal my brain was capable of I fell into denial. “Depression? Sure, it’s something I’ve dealt with but I’m not dealing with it now! Let’s talk about cake and shoes!” I desperately wanted to believe I had found a cure. A fix. The end. Let’s talk about happy stuff, okay?
Here’s the truth I posted on Instagram this morning when I couldn’t sleep because depression is a bitch that wakes you up at 3 am and says “Sleep? Pfft. You should think about how worthless you are instead.”
I find myself wishing I had some sort of disease or disorder that would show up on an x-ray or in a blood test. Something that could be casted, cauterized or cut out of me. Some outward sign that although I look whole, I’m dying inside. My depression is the worst it’s been in years and it has been a slow and painful build to this moment where everything hurts and nothing is making it better.
Here’s the thing.
I hate that this is my trial. I hate that I’m dealing with it again despite doing everything I’m supposed to be doing. I hate that there is still a stigma around depression that it isn’t real. I hate that my brain betrayed me and tried to convince me I’d be better off dead. I hate that I listened to it. I’m pissed off.
Unlike my battles with depression before, I refuse to let it win this time. I honestly don’t remember what happy feels like at this moment, but I know it’s out there, I know it’s worth pursuing. Maybe my anger will make it worse this time, or maybe my refusal to give in will work in my favor. “Oh, you think you want to kill yourself? LET ME SHOW YOU HOW IT’S DONE, SON.”
I don’t know.
I want to hit things. I want to smash things. I want to punch the people who have hurt me and hug the people who are just starting out on this painful journey.
I am not me right now, but enough of who I really am learned how to fight for herself over the last five years and is doing everything she can to come back.
There are things I hate right now, I don’t hate much — but the hate is actually helping me fight harder. The things I hate won’t win this time.
I’m done pretending. I’m done faking it.
I am wrecked and there’s only one way out of wrecked – up.
Kissing frogs really have nothing to do with any of this, but they’re adorable so they get to bookend this entry.