I believe that people with depression can’t pinpoint exactly when it all began. Most people like myself believe that depression is triggered by a particular traumatic event that then causes a spiral, abysmal meltdown of our well-being.
I learned years after going through my beautiful and ugly depression that it’s more than that.
The little things may cause depression — the small, reoccurring moments that unknowingly and secretively add up to something much greater.
Like the time your mother said no to buying you a new pair of shoes that she promised for months or when your dad got pissed at you for not cleaning your room.
Even the time your friend didn’t invite you to her birthday party, and you scrolled through the pictures with all of your closest friends in them, hiding your disdain, overthinking the reasons why you weren’t invited.
These tiny bouts of sadness that you feel, if not resolved, end up coming back from the dead. They find a way to haunt you when you’re in your most vulnerable state.
The best way to describe depression is that it lives in a world of complete opposites, its own plane of juxtapositions.
I know I am depressed when I’m extremely sad for many reasons and for no reason at the same time. There is no other way to describe it.
I have an affinity to all negative emotions in every single physiological way, and yet when the psychiatrist would ask me how I’m feeling, I’d say that I feel absolutely nothing.
The sadness is overwhelming; then the numbness joins in. Depression is an infinite cycle-a spinning wheel that comes and goes. It has a voice that speaks of truth but is all camouflaged by lies.
Andrew Solomon, an expert on depression and mental illness, voices depression in the most accurate way possible: Shutting out the depression strengthens it. While you hide from it, it grows.
My depression, which was once a harmless seed, has evolved into poison ivy because of my need to hide it from everyone, including myself.
I continually water my depression with the idea that everything in life is worthless. The idea of “me” or “I” has no meaning in my dictionary.
And yet what heals my depression – the very thing I hate about myself – is discovering the many ways to appreciate it.
Because of my depression, I see the people who do whatever they can to pull me of out bed and bring me to the other side.
When I’m a total burden, when my negative vibes fill the air with touches of anxiety and guilt, there they are – the ones who would join my fight to help me win. When I don’t want to hide my pain anymore, they’re the ones who ultimately care and love me and will be there to listen. Always.
Depression makes me perceive the world differently. I love my depression because it makes me enjoy life much more than I ever did without it. It teaches me the depth of emotions in art, books, and music. It teaches me that healing comes in every shape and form.
Depression motivates you to take the extra step whenever you don’t want to take it. It pushes you to say I love you to yourself. It convinces you to say love more.
You are NOT a depressed person. You are a person with depression.
Depression does not define your existence or your soul. It is a part of you along with the wonderful qualities that make you terrible.
It is also a part of the wonderful qualities that make you great.