If you knew me at all freshman and sophomore year, then the following statements will probably make you guffaw. If you're my mom, you'll probably roll your eyes.
Back then, things were so much different. And as so many people have told me within the past 6 months, the changes I've made in myself (often times unintentionally) are drastic. Back then, I laughed when people thought they needed depression meds or said that they were physically sickened with their problems. It was unbelievable to me. But that, like with much in life, is only because I never experienced it. Then last winter, I got what was coming. Having been on a downward spiral since my dad told me to leave, I found myself laying in bed with no tangible reason to get up, other than the thought that staying would mean failure. And I hate failure. So without this being a complaining post, or a list of my issues, I think it's time to admit that from about November 2009 until about June 2010, I would very likely have been diagnosed as clinically depressed. I was a mess, a bum; I cried every night unless I was too tired to dream let alone produce tears. I ached all over, and my arms felt like concrete blocks. I couldn't look in the mirror. I'm writing this now, because for the most part, I got over it. It didn't take medicine, or therapy, or vacationing. Honestly it just took hatred of self pity. But I'm seeing lately that depression isn't something easily slipped under the rug and done with. It's this lump that lives inside your stomach, sliding to the top of your throat when it wants to breathe. It hurts and it's tiring and it's NOT explained easily.
So I've learned a few tricks. First there are friends, and those who just listen. Dylan makes everything just seem so happy and wonderful. There are escapes, like painting or drawing or music or baths. There are food groups like chocolate, carbohydrates, grease, and water.
But regaining the JOY of life is difficult. And here's to letting go, and letting God. One day at a time
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