"Some Days, they taste like lemonade,
Some Days, can feel like razorblades,
I wish I could float away, some days."
The Maine, 2011
I'm not sure how this post will turn out, it will probably ramble for a wee while with no real substance, so please forgive me.
Depression, Bi-Polar, Moody. I bet you are all rolling your eyes now and sighing, 'oh gods, not another one'. It seems so easy to 'label' people to put them in their little pigeon hole and feed them the required pills to keep them quiet so they can go on their merry little way. What happens when you have been to see the 'right' people and you have been given your pills and you trundle out of the door on your own merry way?
I think I have depression. I have the meds, I am borderline bi-polar, that is since I have been on these pills I haven't had a manic episode, and boy aren't they fun. Did you see what I put though? I think I have depression. What if this is who I am? I read stories from many different places how people have 'suffered' with depression. I am not suffering, my family suffer when the illness takes over. I don't suffer. I just do. I have read many stories of people overcoming their depression. I will not overcome this, I have been told that I will be on these tablets for the rest of my life. When asked why I was told 'You have a chemical imbalance, these will help'. So am I depressive, do I have "Mental Health" issues (did you see the air quotes? Because talking "Mental Health" we have to have air quotes and maybe lower our voices a bit) I'm confused. Surely if I have depression then I need something to be depressed about? Was it the manipulative Father that I grew up with? Living in the shadow of my Mentally Handicapped brother? My fiancé being killed when I was just sixteen? Finding out that my daughter was being abused by a family member? Who knows. But I look around and I see so much more going on to other people. Bombings, Murders, Rape. War. People cope, but not me it seems. Is this depression, is this where it started. People tell you that depression is this little voice that is in the back of your mind, chipping away at you. Telling you you aren't worth it, what's the point, why? Nope it isn't a little voice. It's my voice. Today, for instance, I am telling myself to look to the sky, see how blue it is, appreciate the warmth from the sun on my face. Friday, my voice was telling me to stay in bed, curl up under the covers because you don't want to see anyone today. Not some funny little voice. Today I am not tired, I can sit by myself and listen to the radio or audio book, I'm even able to write this. Friday, I couldn't. I was tired beyond belief. Each step or movement I took was akin to walking through treacle. I am not in a 'dark' place now and I wasn't in a 'dark' place then. I was just tired, exhausted. Throughout all of my illness I think I have only once really truly thought about dying by my own hand, and the thought scared me so much that I vowed I would never feel that again. To this day I haven't. I'm too selfish to do, I don't want people to forget me so I shall stay for as long as I can. I have hopes and dreams, even at this late age in life there are things I want to do. If I was depressed would I still have these aspirations? I know that I won't come off these tablets, if I do I will be unsufferable. I will lose my family. I will fade away.
Am I depressed? I don't know. Ask me again Some Day.