It is nearly 7am on Monday, and I cannot move. No. It’s not "the Mondays". It’s depression.
I have battled anxiety and depression my entire life. I have always bitten my nails; picked at my cuticles. I wouldn't go outside because I was afraid I'd be shot. I would feel every single thing so deeply, and cry. I can remember melting onto a classroom floor in 6th grade in tears. I have had these types of meltdowns my entire life. And it wasn’t until my senior of high school, that everyone realized that I wasn’t just dramatic, I was sick.
My depression has seen its various levels. I have had the kind of depression where I wouldn’t leave my room. I laid in bed with the lights off for days at a time. I have only had this kind of depression once in my life, and it was the summer before I went to college. And I regret this depression. Because it was the last summer that my parents would be alive. So since then, I have forced myself to do whatever I needed to do, even when I am depressed. I have had the kind of depression where I can’t eat. Admittedly, I wish I had more of this. Now, I get the kind of depression, especially when fueled by anxiety, where all I do is eat. That’s why I am carrying around 45 extra lbs on my small five-foot frame. I’ve had the kind of depression where I wanted to die. And I tried to die. I failed, of course, so here I am. I’ve had the kind of depression where you act out – I drink, I get careless with my life…. This has gotten me into a lot of trouble and has put my in situations where I have been hurt. Frankly, I am lucky that I am alive. The drinking has also given me this reputation that I hate. I have had the kind of depression, where everything is fine, but then there is just kind of this lingering cloud of sadness that won’t go away. In short, I have seen the many forms of depression.
For the most part, I am a functional depressed person. I mean, I would love to spend a couple of weeks locked away, in a hospital, sleep, go to group therapy and all of that jazz. I’ve been there before, and it’s not a vacation by any means. But today, that sounds better than the alternative, which is face the world. But I will. Because I have work to do. Because people are counting on me. Because.
People will ask me today “How are you?” and I will say “GREAT!”, but it will be a lie. I will want to say, “I am depressed and barely functioning and my serotonin levels are so low that I can’t even remember my name and I just would like to go to bed and sleep for an eternity”. But there is no space for that. Instead, I will smile and say “GREAT!”. They will not know that just this morning, I melted to the ground sobbing out of nowhere, scared that life will always be this.
This post has no point. And it’s not even funny. Depression is holding my sense of humor hostage for the moment. And out of everything, that’s the worst thing that depression can do to me. And depression knows that.
How am I? great.