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I have a confession...I'm not okay.

I have a confession...I'm not okay.

Everyday I'm asked the same question. "How are you?" And everyday I respond a simple "I'm fine" or "I'm okay." But the truth of the matter is I'm not. If I'm honest with myself and my loved ones, I would have to admit that I'm not okay. I'm not okay because I suffer from depression. If I was truly honest, I would admit that I have struggled with depression off and on for years. And this is the third time in my life where I have sought professional help for it.

 BAD DAYS

  Over the years, I have struggled with almost debilitating sadness. I wouldn't want to leave my bed or my room. I would avoid social gatherings and any contact with close friends or family. I would have images of death, in particular mine. I would and still suffer from headaches, sleeplessness, body aches, severe stomach pains, and appetite changes. Most of the time I would write it off as having a bad day. We all have bad days, right? Where things don't seem to go right, like missing the train or forgetting something important. But my "bad days" sometimes came without warning. No catalyst like being late or something actually happening. I just felt so bad I had difficulty facing the world. This disease thrives on those "bad days." It grows and festers to uncontrollable measures when we are isolated. It lives in the dark solitary we crave.  

 MY PRIVATE SHAME

I felt and still feel shame. The thought of admitting my illness, embarrasses me.  As if I am weaker than the rest of the world. People deal with cancer, homelessness, and addiction. I felt I had no right to be depressed. But I'm diminishing my own experiences.  I've been sexually assaulted, abused and have suffered two miscarriages. Events in it of themselves that carry their own shame and secrecy, thus feeding my depression. I have encountered co-workers, acquaintances, friends and even family who have made comments about other people who have suffered from depression that were down right cruel.  If I were to open up to them, I would have to open myself up to their secret ridicule, little whispers, side eyes, indifference, and pity. I have lived in denial out of sheer fear of the stigma admitting what I was dealing with would bring. 

WHAT NOW

 The cat's out of the bag.  My private shame is now public and bare for the world to comment on and judge.  But I cannot be concerned anymore about that, if I am ever going to be my healthiest self.  Every day I have to make a deliberate effort not to get pulled into the darkness. It is not easy, I'm not going to lie. And while medication may be in my future, it's not a fix all and I have to continue to engage in the world. I need to get up and out of bed.  I need to continue my therapy. I need to be okay with laughing and spending time with friends and family. I can't continue to make excuses for not being at friends' events or family functions. I need to open up and a share my story, so they can support me. I have to believe that those comments and statements I know that some have made were out of lack knowledge or true understanding. I pray that my admission will allow those who suffer like me to feel safe to admit it to those close to them and for others to create a safe space for their friends or loved ones who managing this illness.  There's nothing wrong with admitting that you are not okay.

 

It it has taken me three days to write this. It's a struggle admitting to the world my deepest and most private thoughts. I hope I'm brave enough to actually post this.  

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