Doors

     There are some days I am totally unprepared for what is to come, even though it has happened a thousand times. 

     Regardless of what I’m doing, there are days the depression just creeps in, so slowly that I don’t realize when or how it got there. It’s familiar, and not really surprising, but somehow I just don’t expect to feel it. It’s like an old roommate that I’ve since moved away from, but today they are in my house, using my kitchen and bringing their friends over. 

     It’s so familiar but it’s like, why are you here? Why have you come back? You aren’t supposed to be here today. 

     And depression, the old roommate, responds with, 

     Some days it isn’t so bad.

     Other days fifty extra pounds hangs from my soul, and it often fills me with judgement and impatience, which in turn makes me hate myself even more. It is an endless cycle. It is a trap I set for myself.

     You might say I need different meds, and while i very well may, the ones I do have work really well—when I take them. 

     But so often I miss a dose, or I took one that got kinda wet a while back and I can’t afford to buy new ones because medicine is so damn expensive, and the door is opened, just a crack.

      And the blackness comes in.

     I didn’t know that depression was even real growing up. I lived in a community with a tragic lack of awareness, discussion, and understanding of mental illness. While people around me might have been total advocates for seeking mental health, I never heard from anyone. I sought help from anyone who would listen. 

     It wasn’t until 2014 that I discovered that what I had was depression, and that it was real and treatable. My mental health has gone through a series of ups and downs since then. I’m not better, but I can keep the darkness at bay rather than leaving the door wide open. My dear husband, family, and friends have helped me hold the door when I can’t do it by myself.

     Sometimes the darkness just envelops me, and I’m in a fog for days, weeks. I cry, I have panic attacks, I find ways to hurt myself, try to clock out of this life a bit early. I don’t have my mental problems under control—and I might never have them completely under control. 

     And that’s okay.

     I revived this old blog because I so desperately want to advocate for mental health, and while there are so many wonderful blogs already doing so, I want to add my voice.

     There is a lot of stigma surrounding people with mental disorders and illnesses. Medical problems with your mental state are real, debilitating, and often misconstrued as being weak, trying to be special, or get to attention. 
      Sometimes people will tell you you're selfish, you're not praying enough, you're not grateful enough, not trying hard enough to "get over it.” Some people will think you’re just plain crazy. Everyone seems to have their own diagnosis of you. 

     Don't listen to those people. They mean well, but they don't understand what it's like, can't grasp what it is to have your own mind working against you.

     Do what makes you well, friend. If medication makes it where you can live and function better, don't be ashamed of taking it. Make sure you take it on time, and stick to it. If a therapist, mentor, or other kind of counselor helps you unburden and process those heavy thoughts, continue to seek help from them. Keep your appointments.

     If you find peace in prayer, or meditation, music, running, anything that works for you, make yourself do it. Don’t sacrifice your wellness for fear of being stigmatized. You are not alone.

      I have spent my entire life fighting major depressive disorder, panic attacks, anxiety, self-harm and dermatillomania and it is NOT because I am weak, because I want attention, because I haven't been a strong enough Christian or strong enough person, not because some doctor told me so or that some people just can't handle feeling bad. It's none of that. 

       Depression is as real a medical problem as a congenital disease or a concussion.

You don't have to apologize for it. 



Words and Art Copyright Sabrina Walsh, 2017.