Dear Depression,
You suck. You make me feel hollow, broken, lost and hopeless—but you are a part of me. You have been with me as long as I can remember. For a very long time I didn’t understand why I always felt pitiful, sad and inferior. I felt something was wrong with me, but it wasn’t me, it was you.
You slip into peoples’ minds and twist them to feel dark, heavy and wrong. Sometimes you are gradual, like a steady dripping of water that eventually turns into an overflowing pool of despair. Other times you blow through like a tornado, destroying all the good in your path.
When I finally understood what you were I was embarrassed to ask for help. People that have never truly felt your weight don’t understand the impact you have. They told me to think positive, to exercise and eat well. These people didn’t realize that you kept me awake at night—a smoke uncurling in my head causing my mind to cough up dark nightmares. They didn’t understand that you made my body too heavy to carry from my bed. They didn’t see that you stole my appetite, made me cranky, and anxious. The first person I told about you said you were a phase I would grow out of…I am 24 for now and you are still here with me.
You have made attempts on my life. You have taken me down paths riddled with ghosts and demons, you’ve trapped me in dark corners of my own mind. There have been times where you pushed me to the very edge of the cliff—times where I almost jumped. You pushed friends and family off the edge of that cliff. You are a stealthy killer, you convince us that it is our idea to die. Often times the ones who love us don’t realize how big a role you play until it’s too late.
I realize now that shame and ignorance are your allies. I was ashamed that I carried you with me, worried about how other people would view me. That shame kept me pinned under you. The ignorance of others kept them from knowing how to help, kept them from understanding help was needed. These allies allowed you to stay close to me. I am no longer ashamed of you, and I will no longer let others write you off as a minor discomfort.
Depression, you are an illness. You have the ability to poison minds, bodies and relationships. You have the ability to steal life. You are an illness, but you can be managed. You are an illness that a light needs to be cast upon to help those suffering out of the dark and I promise to do what I can to shine my light on you.
Sincerely,
Depressed and Determined.
