Topic: depression
It’s easy to believe that fame, professional success, wealth, or adoration can protect people from pain, but that is not true. Addiction doesn’t discriminate. Depression doesn’t care if you’re great at what you do.
I’ve been through this before, and so have the people I’ve reached out to for help. This isn’t a path meant for one, and that’s something I’m beginning to understand. I’m not alone.
Give me the garden beds full of color, but also give me those March and April days when only the bulbs have declared their moratorium on winter’s death and are dormant no more, pushing their tiny bodies into a new year. How silent and steady and unassuming the growth is, but it is not missed by me.
My favorite person in the world isn’t here anymore. All the trips I wanted us to take, the late-night chats yet to be had, cups of our favorite tea yet to be enjoyed. I don’t know what the solution is, but I do know that she’d want me to keep running.
My first therapy appointment wasn’t great. I don’t know if the first session is ever good—it’s hard to be comfortable with the level of vulnerability therapy requires.
I’m aware that this isn’t me, that this seemingly all-encompassing sadness is more of a leaching villain than the toxic-yet-comforting friend I initially saw it as. And if you know me, then you know how much I love a good superhero story.
Depression is not something that only affects certain people. You do not have to go through traumatic life events to experience it. You do not have to justify or explain your depression.
If I wasn't on my medication, I wouldn't even be able to work at all.
All three of these times, when I made the decision to jeopardize my own existence, I truly wanted to die. In those moments, I believed that whatever I was going through—coming to terms with my sexuality, breakups, fights with friends, bad decisions—was worth ending my life.
I was emotionally and verbally abused for the first 16 years of my life or so by my father. That’s a hard thing for me to type. It’s an even harder thing for me to say out loud. My instinct is to clarify that I still had a good childhood by most accounts.
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