Depression: I am not without joy.

I have depression.

depression: a mental health disorder characterized by persistently depressed mood or loss of interest in activities, causing significant impairment in daily life

2008. diagnosis. 

My doctor recommended medication. Antidepressants were not something I wanted to try, so I opted instead for an upgrade in 'talk therapy'. Talk therapy was a game changer. I began to find myself again, to reach out from underneath the void, the weight, the quicksand. Over the years I have learned that depression, the mental health disorder, is not something to 'get over'. I have learned that although I have depression, I am not always depressed. I do not always feel that my mood is depressed. I am not always at a loss for interest in activity. 

I am not without joy. 

anxiety: a mental health disorder characterized by feelings of worry, anxiety, or fear that are strong enough to interfere with one's daily activities

2012. additions. 

My first panic attack was ruthless. I lost and regained consciousness-again and again, my blood pressure, heart rate, and body temperature rose and fell at obscenely rapid rates. It all ended with a trip to the emergency room, a real misunderstanding for what happened to my body, and many costly trips to specialists telling me I was in fact quite healthy. The lengthy process of this secondary diagnosis brought me to the truth of my anxiety. 

I learned to notice my nervous behaviors, my obsessive thoughts and actions. I learned that my anxiety stayed with me, in moments of solace and in turbulence. After many months of trial and error, too many panic attacks to count, and a rapid decrease in my ability to control my emotional responses, I finally found ways to cope away from my own inner mishaps. I began to sleep off my newly acquired insomnia. I found joy more often than fear. 

2017. reflections.

When a surge hits me--a depressive mood I can't quite shake-a weightlessness heavier than any physical object this world has to offer--I am again lost in a flurry of misunderstanding. I am lost in a space that is all too familiar. I am unable to communicate, to connect. I force words, interactions, 'okay-ness'. I am misunderstood from the outside. I am unable to share my truth on the inside. The door to the other side is hazy. My feet slip beneath me. I prefer motionlessness. I have no desire to reach for the door-the haze somehow burns my hands. I wait until the air clears, until no one is around, until I can live in the quicksand long enough to sink through to the other side. 

My depression is not your fault. 

My depressed mood does not reflect my love for you. 

My inability to communicate does not shed light on my connection with you. 

My need for solitude is my own. My depression is not yours. I do hope you understand.