I Clicked “Write.”

I don’t want to say it but I feel like I need to say it because even though I don’t want to say it I don’t care if it offends people and I do care if just one person reads it and feels a little better because of it.

So, I’m going to tell the self-judgmental demon on my shoulder to kick rocks for a minute and just go on with it… I clicked “Write.”

I don’t care if people don’t get it.

I don’t care if people have all the advice and well wishes.

I don’t care if people care.

I’m tired.

I want to go HOME – not a home here – HOME.

This is depression.

I tried to overcome it with my ways, like with this picture. Walking outside. Focusing on the boy’s writing skills. These animals. This music I was working on. The papers I was reading. The proofing I was doing for another article for another site…

But this is depression. It doesn’t care.

It won today. It is still winning.

My chest is heavy. I feel like I can’t breathe. Every breath I take is literally a huge effort right now, in this moment, like purposeful deep breathing but it’s like…well, not a choice.

I am MAKING MYSELF BREATHE.

This is depression.

Seeing/watching my son makes me feel guilty and selfish for ever bringing a child into this world, and no – I don’t want to leave the house.

This is depression.

I care but I don’t care. I want to care more about some things and not care at all about some things I shouldn’t care about.

That one is normal for most of us on most days, lol, but it’s also heightened by depression.

I love myself enough to live but I hate myself enough to think about dying even though I tell my brain to STOP THINKING ABOUT DYING.

This is depression.

I’m tired of trying and getting nowhere and being told not to give up. It’s been 30 years of this same cycle in my brain. I want to give up. I want off this ride, despite what I have to live for.

This is depression. I know many don’t understand this. But it’s true – it is depression.

I know that people love me but I don’t want to talk and I don’t want to see anyone. I can not physically move from my desk right now and I’d really rather be in bed. It’s not you. It’s me.

This is depression.

I don’t need sympathy – or want it. I don’t want the attention drawn to me, I want it drawn to the stigma and the thing – the depression. So, I am terrified to post things about depression but here we are, because I don’t care enough about anything right now to care if the trolls come.

This is depression.

Why? Where does it come from? Is it the (menopausal) hormones? Is it grief? Is it my chronic MDD? Is it the world? Is it the war? Is it the financial bullshit of the money for the few and near poverty for most of the rest of the people? Is it being afraid of cancer? Is being afraid of disappointing anyone?

I don’t know.

It’s all of those things and none of those things.

Why doesn’t the nature and the sun and the water and the walk and the kiddo cuddles and the writing and the music and the deep breathing and the tools – all of the tools I have to help me – seem to be working today?

I don’t know. But I AM trying. I messaged my therapist. She said nothing useful which is why I fired her in the first place. But I made the effort, or so I tell myself.

I put two feet on the ground this morning. Earlier than usual, even. I put two bare feet on the ground outside, even though it was wet. I ate breakfast, for once. I took the supplements and the meds. I told my people I loved them – well, most of them anyway… I even drove to the corner store for milk. UNHEARD OF for me to do that for just one thing…I’ll suffer and wait til I know it’s not going to be full of people and get a lot of things before I’ll brave running into four people to get one stupid thing.

And yet? I still feel like the scum of the earth, inside…despite knowing I’m not.

Anyway, the point is this – I’m not really ok in this particular now. And if you’re not ok? That’s ok. We can be not ok together. It’s valid, even if we feel guilty for some of it.

It’s not about feeling sorry for yourself. It’s not about you not trying hard enough. YOU ARE NOT LAZY. YOU ARE NOT USELESS. YOU ARE A WONDERFUL PARENT. YOU ARE A BEAUTIFUL HUMAN.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

And it’s OK. 🌷💜

PS: Thank you to my friends who do understand, and for the random ways you’ve helped me focus or cheered me up, even if you didn’t/don’t realize you did. I will be ok. And if you’re reading this, and you just feel maybe a little heard or understood and you’re breathing deep just to get the breath in you, maybe you will feel ok again soon, too.

Be patient with yourself.

Be patient with others.

Help is here.

1-800-950-NAMI (6264)

1-800-273-8255

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