Day 27: It’s Okay to Feel Depressed

Today, I would like to share another excerpt from my most recent publication, The Poetry of Emotion, on the subject of depression. One that as you will see, I have had a great deal of experience with. I continue to struggle at times, but it has improved so much over the years and the first step was not being afraid to admit to myself not only that I suffered from it, but that it didn’t have to something that crippled me.

If anyone is feeling the gravity of depression and anxiety, I hope by sharing my struggle, it will give you some relief in knowing that it’s okay and you’re not alone.

Stay strong, your darkness is beautiful and so are you.

Depression

Looking back on my life the years that formed me seem to be, in most instances, a blur. Their significance blind to the hopeless soul I was back then. They were of the most influential moments of my life and yet they are the farthest from the reality in which I currently exist. Perhaps it is the loneliness I once found an uncomfortable comfort in that disallows the appreciation of a time in its absence. And so, it is the loneliness to which I cling. After all, for the majority of my life it was the only real constant I had ever known.

I have always considered myself to be broken and more importantly, that being broken was far from beautiful. I have come to learn, I was extraordinarily wrong. The most beautiful people in this world are the broken, the wounded and the left behind. For so long, we just simply never had a voice. A sounding board on which to express that which is not modern opinion and/or comprehension.

We are all beautiful. Every scar is something we’ve overcome, a wound healed and perhaps a lesson learned. They should not be judged harshly, but rather celebrated as a triumph of strength and accomplishment. You’ve faced something, regardless of its intensity and you have overcame.

I am not of the masses, the typical or the usual. I do not fit within the confines of the realities of most. And so, for so long…I did not feel as though I would survive. I have spent my days living on the outskirts, never getting too close or letting anyone far enough in to see the damage I try so hard to hide.

And thus, I’ve struggled in this world to be anything but unusual. Fitting in was survival. Being part of the pack was what I thought would give my life meaning. A purpose in a world that seemed strange and overwhelming. And when I didn’t fit in as a normal would, I found myself once again in a depressing spiral of discontent. Over and over again, I found myself in the same downward spiral until it eventually became a comfort. I was so used to being in pain that the torment became my preservation. And thus each day became harder than the next.

Now, some would simply shrug this off as life. After all, we all have ups and downs, perhaps those who experience the feelings I described above are of the hyperbolic, melodramatic breed. And I’ll give you that there is always going to be a certain amount of crazy we just can’t account for. But what if in some cases it’s more than that?

How many of you know someone who suffers from depression? I mean really think about it. There are those that have life experiences that cause a low and an understandable spout of immense sadness, which is life.

But I would bet that almost every person reading this knows at least one person, for whom it goes beyond that. It is not something that is talked about enough. It is one of those subjects that can sometimes get dismissed as if it is a cop out for the weak. But it’s not. It’s real. And it’s about time we remove the veil of shame attached to it and understand it for what it truly is.

Those who, for lack of a better word, suffer from this said affliction are not at all weak. Quite the opposite actually. They are the warriors. They are the ones who wake each day with a mountain on their chest. Their heart as heavy as their mind, but still they find a way to rise. They push forward through the normal life struggles with an ocean of sadness on their back as if it is usual practice. It’s different for everyone, but that is the best generalization I can muster.

Personally, my best explanation is that each day for me feels like a prison. I wake each morning, battling myself, pushing against a current of self-doubt and hesitancy as I rise to face the day. ‘I am not alone’ I tell myself and all be it true, I still have to force myself to believe it. Every morning, of every day, I have to fight, with the one person I should trust the most, myself. Every affirmation of love brings a feeling of irrational inadequacy rooted in a childhood of indifference that I just can’t seem to escape.

It is in moments like these, those wee hours of the night, that it almost seems easier. Maybe it is because much of the world is asleep. Less of those to judge. Those who may never understand, just how vacant one can feel when faced with their own reflection. I see so much of her in me, yet I’m not really sure I even know who that is. And therefore, sometimes, really most of the time, I’m still struggling to find myself amongst what seems like a lifetime of never knowing what was real. I don’t know if I’ll ever figure it out. You know, genuinely find the solution to healing the misery of the past, but what I do know is…I’m not alone. And neither are you.