I feel you. Throughout the past month, you’ve been creeping in again slowly but surely. Your filthy grip is attempting to hold me down. You’re like the one fly that I can’t seem to kill. There are days when I think you’ve flown away and other days I can’t keep you away from me.
Throughout the years you’ve hit me in waves. There was a time when I didn’t think I’d see my 15th birthday, but I did. I went on to see my 16th and 17th birthday and so on. Now, I’ll be damned if I don’t see my 25th, 26th, and 27th birthdays and all of my birthdays after that.
You cause me to sleep all day and night or don’t allow me to sleep at all. Simple things like going to eat or showering become difficult. Missing church and support group has become a habit instead of a rare occurrence. I go to class looking like a zombie and count the minutes until it is over. If I’m having a difficult time just trying to eat and shower, what makes you think I do things I loved every day?
My clothes hamper is overflowing with dirty laundry. Each day I look into my closet and see the dirty heap of colors before trying to convince myself I’ll take care of it today. Dirty dishes sit staring at me waiting to be washed, but one look and I go back to bed.
Remember that speech I gave three weeks ago on how life is finally looking better? I’m sure you do depression; you filled me that day and had me in tears. It’s a miracle that I didn’t break down in front of my friends. Oh, and let me remind you about the weekend. We all danced and sang, and I was having a wonderful time, but for a few brief minutes, you hit me. The song changed, and that’s when it happened. Quietly, I got up and went to the restroom for a few minutes while tears streamed down my face.
Now, my body is full of excitement for upcoming events, but you keep telling me to cancel. You say that I’ll just get hurt. Things will never work, so why try? You’re the dark storm cloud that appears in the middle of a young child’s birthday party. In this case, I’m the child, and it’s my birthday you’re trying to ruin.
Some tell me to turn to my faith, and I’ll be okay. Believe me; I am, but unless they’ve experienced this for themselves they simply do not understand. Others refuse to believe I live with you. Surely you can’t suffer from depression if you smile at others and always make others laugh? Maybe they are right. Maybe I don’t need to go to therapy. Maybe I don’t need to be medicated. Maybe I’d be fine without all of it; maybe I’m just crazy. But I’m not willing to risk the maybes.
So depression, this isn’t a love letter to you. It’s me wanting to break up with you. All I ask is that you release your grip on me. Let me live apart from you. Let me thrive. You’ve been a part of my life for so long now, and I think it is about time we go our separate ways. I won’t give you the stereotypical, “it’s not you it’s me” line because it is you. I’m not the problem here, you are. I don’t love you, in fact, who could? You make life a living hell for all of those that suffer from your grip. Even the so called “lucky ones” who are considered high functioning don’t love you. So move along, you’re not welcome here.
Sincerely,
The Girl Who Never Loved You and never will.