The Great Depression

I know what I have to do. I understand the expectations. Be strong, stand tall, never let them see you down. Hold that sword, keep it steady, have iron in your guts and steel in your soul. Keep swimming, keep going, hold your head up and face that fire. You can do it. Everyone knows you can. You know you can. You have.

Except. You can’t anymore. You do. But it’s getting harder. Harder to look people in the eye and say “I’m doing fine.” Harder to stay on this side of the ravine, always looking down into it, wondering what will happen if you slip, and how bad it would be. Might be worth it.

Will people feel sorry for you? You don’t want that. Will they treat you differently? Assume you’re broken? Think that you are weak? You don’t want that either.

So you hide it. You deny. You say everything is great. Business is good, the sun is shining and you’ve got this. No worries, no problem. I’ll figure it out.

And you aren’t lying. You’ve been traveling this road so long, you know how it goes. It’s certainly not the path less traveled. Many people know this road. No one talks about it. No one acknowledges it, or considers it an honest to goodness illness. It’s just depression. It’ll go away, you’ll be fine they say. You just need time. You just need therapy. You just need medication.

My mind wanders. Who do I know that is depressed? No one. And yet I do. I know you, and you know me. But we don’t speak. We don’t tell. We don’t surrender. We are strong, capable women and men. We can’t let everyone down.

I finally want to talk about it. To tell you, my friends, my readers. The reason I don’t write. The reason I take so many naps. The reason I hide sometimes, don’t answer the phone, don’t want to talk. Don’t want to teach, don’t want to parent. Don’t want to cook or clean, or be. And yet the responsibilities I have gnaw at me. I must do this, I must do that. And then there’s nothing left to give. Nothing left over for writing, or living.

We are going on an Alaskan cruise in August. I am so excited for it. Just me and Tony. But I am also terrified. That chronic depression will steal my energy as it does every day, that I won’t be able to enjoy it. Because I will be tired. Because I am always tired.

Weary. Yes, these past five years have been really rough on me. You can see that in my face. I am older, more mellow and much, much wiser. I know things and have seen things I never wished for, I never could have imagined I would be in this place at 48.

I wonder every day how to heal myself. I consider. I weigh. I think. I brood. I try this vitamin and that. I spend time with the horses. I go to physical therapy for my back, knowing that stretching and working out should make me feel better. My brain has all these things it wants to do, I can imagine myself doing them. I want to do them. I am a workhorse at heart. The chronic depression turns me into someone I don’t recognize. Someone I don’t want to be. Which, of course, makes me feel guilty.

I keep going. What else is there to do?

Talk about it. Shine light on it. It’s ok. You deserve to be honest. Pray. Even Jesus suffered from depression. You are not alone in your suffering. “Though you may hold your sword in a shaky hand, I see the demons you are slaying. Carry on warrior. You are stronger than you realize.” – Sarah McClure