Recently, I toyed with the idea that my depression had come back.
Numerous times over the past few weeks I’ve looked over various depression diagnoses and their criteria, and each time I convinced myself that it wasn’t me; that it would be gone the next morning, that I was just having a bad day. I settled on the idea that my thoughts and emotions weren’t severe enough to classify myself as having depression.
Numerous times over the past few weeks I’ve looked over various depression diagnoses and their criteria, and each time I convinced myself that it wasn’t me; that it would be gone the next morning, that I was just having a bad day. I settled on the idea that my thoughts and emotions weren’t severe enough to classify myself as having depression.
I’ve now come to accept that everyone experiences sadness; everyone experiences grief. It’s all dependent on how your brain handles those things.
It’s only been in the past two weeks that I’ve finally accepted that I have depression, and contacted my doctors about it. Depression is so much more than a list of symptoms on a website. Depression can exist underneath the smile I wear to work every day, and the care I give to my family and friends.
With accepting this comes the inevitable worry. I’m worried that people will doubt me. People will see that I get out of bed and go to work every day. That I have a loving network of family and friends. I laugh and smile, I’m sociable.
But what most people don’t know is that depression is overpowering. My heart is constantly heavy. I care about nothing, but at the same time everything. There is a voice inside me telling me I’m not good enough, that I’m a burden. But it’s okay that they don’t know this. I know this. I’m not going to let my depression rule my life; I’m finally ready to take control.
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