To My Depression:
Most days I don’t even realize you’re there. I pop a pill and a half each morning and go about my business leaving you in the dust. Our paths cease to meet and I honestly forget that you exist – and have existed since that fateful day I sat in a stranger’s office and received a foreign diagnosis that I’ve worn like a badge of dishonor when I was newly eighteen. I was barely an adult and was already found flawed enough that only medication could help.
“You’re a square peg and you’ll never find a place to fit in.”
But today, Depression, you reared your ugly head and hit me with the weight of a thousand bricks. You smashed me with insult after insult until you left me a sobbing mess in my bed clutching for a semblance of comfort. All the while, the world went on without me, leaving me dizzy with regrets and sinking in even more doubt. You’ve stolen too much of my time and pilfered enough of my joy, replacing it with numbness. Being numb is not a way to live. Neither is drowning in sorrow.
“You’re not as loved as you think you are. People only tolerate you.”
Why me? Why is it so easy to leave me with the shadowy burden of self-disgust? What did I do to deserve it? I would never speak these words to another soul. But time and time again you’ve deemed me more than worthy of these destructive sentiments. Depression, you’re a toxic friend that I can’t seem to kick to the curb, though I want nothing more to see you grow smaller and smaller in the rear-view mirror of my life.
Depression, you’re a liar and a thief.
You throw fear on me like it’s a haven that I want to secure myself into. You whisper falsehoods in my ear in hopes that I seek solace in the shadows. It’s like you know that where light shines, darkness must flee. You try time and time again to suffocate me in panic.
“You’re a fraction of everything you should be and not even enough to be whole.”
You constantly make me feel like I’m not woman enough, wife enough, mother enough, daughter enough, sister enough, friend enough, employee enough…enough! Enough already! Depression, I am telling you: I am enough.
Know that medication isn’t the only weapon in my arsenal. I come equipped with a battalion of support to combat your candy-coated attempts at my demise. My therapist is helping me assemble a game plan for each of your dastardly plays. With each verbal assault you throw, know that I have an army behind me ready to retaliate with affirmations that dispel your darkest of lies. And I’m going to try to include myself in the compassion I so freely give to others to smother you. My self-love will someday surpass the hatred you have for me.
Today, you may have won the battle. But you won’t win the war.