I'll divulge this; I went through this hard in 2015 (and last year, too, though not quite as bad). In the sake of full disclosure, I was never formally diagnosed because I was too paranoid to go to a doctor, but my homegirl was medically diagnosed with it and she said I sounded just like she was. And when I read up on it, I had most of the symptoms:
- sadness
- tiredness
- trouble focusing or concentrating
- unhappiness
- anger
- irritability
- frustration
- loss of interest in pleasurable or fun activities
- sleep issues (too much or too little)
- no energy
- craving unhealthy foods
- anxiety
- isolation
- restlessness
- worrying
- trouble thinking clearly or making decisions
- poor performance at work or school
- dropping out of activities
- guilt
- suicidal thoughts or tendencies
- pain, like headaches or muscle aches
- drug or alcohol abuse
Now thankfully, I never wanted to kill myself and I never used drugs or alcohol, but other than those, I had every symptom on this list. And I had them regularly. Every day was a different mix.
When it first started hitting me, I figured it was just some elongated form of PMS that would pass sooner or later. But it didn't. My moods would switch from irritable to down-in-the-dumps in the blink of an eye, and after a while, I knew something was wrong. I've never been one to just spontaneously burst into tears, but that's exactly what I was doing. And sooner or later, some of my family started to take notice, regardless of how much I tried to hide it. I didn't want my son to see me like that so I always tried to put my game face on around him, and also I just didn't want to answer a bunch of questions about what was wrong with me.
Truth was, I didn't know.
When my sister first got wind of the change in me, she made the comment that I was "moping" around. And I'll be honest, that pissed me off. I wasn't choosing to be depressed. Who would? No one chooses this.
It chose me.
Depression had come down on me like a heavy cloak that I couldn't shake off...I ate any and everything, gained a bunch of weight, then got even more depressed about that 'cause I couldn't stand to look at my own body. I was oversleeping for everything...work, church, whatever. Other nights I would lay up for hours, wide awake and just staring into the darkness. I never wanted to go anywhere or do anything. Heck, I didn't have the energy to do anything. I was way more emotional than I had ever been and every day was just another twenty-four hours of going through the motions.
My life was a joke, I thought. My love life was an ever bigger joke.
I'd be stuck in two jobs I didn't particularly like forever, I thought.
I'd be stuck in two jobs I didn't particularly like forever, I thought.
I was a failure that nobody wanted, I thought.
My son was going to grow up and leave me and I'd die alone and fat and unhappy while everyone else was happy and toned and thriving. I thought.
My friend pleaded with me to go to talk to a psychiatrist, and I looked into it, but I never went. I don't know if it was laziness or denial, but I just couldn't make myself do it. I did eventually confide in my pastor, who was refreshingly empathetic and encouraging. But this wasn't something I wanted to go around broadcasting, so only my friend and my sister really knew what the real deal was (well, and my pastor). I just continued to pretend like I was fine around everyone else and then go somewhere and cry or lay down. Or both.
You know how when you're going through something or dealing with something, you tend to notice it being talked about more? It was like when I started suspecting I was pregnant; all of a sudden pregnancies and babies were all people were talking about around me. Or when I bought my Nissan Altima; I started seeing them all over the place.
Well, I started noticing depression being mentioned or talked about a lot more, and it irritated me how little empathy a lot of people have for this. Like I said before, some people foolishly think depression is something folks choose or want. Or they think it's something we're supposed to just be able to snap out of.
"Get over it," they say. "You don't have it that bad."
It's not even about that; at least it wasn't for me. True enough, sometimes it can be triggered by situations, like maybe your home burning down or losing your job or something like that, but that wasn't the case for me. I have suspicions, but I don't really know what triggered mine. But it was real. And it was serious. Everybody that knows me knows I love my son more than anything on this planet, and I didn't even want to do anything with him. I didn't want to be bothered; I didn't feel like being anybody's mother. I just wanted to be left alone. But I couldn't be, and that just made me even more frustrated.
Honestly, it was also embarrassing. I didn't want to readily admit, even to those closest to me, that I was depressed. I felt like it meant I was being ungrateful. But my homegirl helped me to realize I had nothing to be embarrassed about, and it has nothing to do with being ungrateful. It's a disorder. It's a sickness. And it could happen to anybody.
Honestly, it was also embarrassing. I didn't want to readily admit, even to those closest to me, that I was depressed. I felt like it meant I was being ungrateful. But my homegirl helped me to realize I had nothing to be embarrassed about, and it has nothing to do with being ungrateful. It's a disorder. It's a sickness. And it could happen to anybody.
So towards the end of 2015, I tried to make some changes...I started working out again, thankfully dropping some weight. I tried to be more social and get out of the house a little more (something I've never been good at). And I met my current boyfriend, who did a lot towards boosting my self-confidence and esteem (he didn't know about my depression until way later, though). After a while, I really thought I had conquered the bull...I had pushed that cloak off me. But it's not that easy or that quick, from what I've realized.
Yes, I'm better than I was. But I'm not over it. So many days, I'm still lethargic, still emotional, still irritable, still feeling hopeless...etc etc. It's hard (and frustrating) to accept. But I deal thanks to encouraging friends and family, and lots of prayer. I know nothing is too hard for God. But this is just my cross to bear.
I still might go see a therapist. Talking to a professional couldn't hurt. And it would certainly help to get to the root of what brought all this on.
Just need to get off my bum and go.
#loveandbooks
