Choose Light over Darkness

"My whole life I've had depression. I can remember being ten years old and reading in a Snoopy health book for kids that we lose between 30,000-40,000 skin cells each day. I was crushed. The idea that a tiny holocaust was taking place on my body every single day was too much to bear. I cried and cried. And then I laid in bed, numb. I had no desire to play or talk to anyone. There was no hope in this world. I might as well be one of those skin cells, lost in the abyss of nothingness.

Yeah, I was kind of an intense kid.

And it's funny in hindsight. Sorta. I mean, looking back on past troubles can often be humorous in a "Oh, what was I thinking? Why was I so upset about that?" self-deprecating kind of way. And there's something to be said for black humor. But there's also something to be said for depression.

Depression is an evil, elusive motherfucker. It comes in all different forms. Not everyone battling depression stereotypically retreats from the world, sleeps all day, drops out of school, misses work and all that. Sometimes it's this ever-present itch deep inside. It's a general ennui or Meh that dulls your senses and interests. It's not severe enough to draw attention to yourself, even to yourself. You might just think you're bored. Or lazy. Hell, maybe you are.

And maybe you think, "What do I have to be depressed about? I had a decent childhood. I have a decent job and a decent social life. There are people out there who have it much worse off than I do. I shouldn't complain." You feel guilty for being momentarily self-absorbed.

And maybe you try not to think about it too much, because what's the point? So you toss back a few beers each night or a few whiskeys each weekend, or maybe you smoke a few bowls here and there or just watch movie after movie to keep the numbness going. Or maybe to get rid of the numbness, you cut. Or fuck. Anyone. Just to feel something. Maybe you stop and start projects but can never finish. Maybe you're stuck and don't know how to move forward. So you wait. And wait.

And you might think, "Yeah, I had a pretty shitty father. And yeah, I was raped that one time. And sure I don't know of a single happily married couple that could serve as a role model for a good, worthwile, long-term relationship. And some days my self-esteem all over the place, but hey, that's life, right? Shit happens. Nothing's perfect. You live and learn and make the best of it."

And all those things are very true.

But something else is very true as well. It starts off as a tiny pea inside your brain, or perhaps in the back of your throat. You know it's there because it tastes slightly metallic and pinches from time to time. And if you let your guard down, it might retract it's tiny thorns just enough to slip down into your chest where it swells, warm and misty, and you hear it deep in your gut:

You don't have to suffer.

You shouldn't have to live like this.

There is another way.

There came a point in my life where I was so depressed I realized there were only two options. Get help or kill myself. Because the pain was so great I couldn't bear it anymore. I consider myself really lucky to have hit that point, actually. Many people never get that low, instead they hoover at this semi-tolerable level of depression. They can still go to work, still maintain relationships, still live for the most part normal lives. Perhaps they have bad spells, but they are so used to them by now they just chalk them up to a part of who they are. And worse, they believe that it's an integral part of who they are and they begin to pride themselves on it. "I'm dark," or "I'm a lone wolf," "I'm different," "I'm special," "No one understands me and I like it that way."

But are you happy? You might say sure. But hell, do you even know what happiness feels like? How would you if you have been dealing with this blah, this restlessness for so long?

I think I've been in this place for a long time now. It's not the sweeping, drastic, violent depression of years ago. But this might be worse. I'm ok enough to rationalize, to make excuses, to not be completely honest with myself. But two things have now become clear.

I don't want to suffer.

I don't want to live like this anymore.

I sat down on Saturday with my phone in my hand and a phone number in my other. And even though I've been through this before, even though I've promoted this and confidently helped others through it. Hell, I've even worked as a first-responder rape councilor myself. But no matter what your personal level of experience is with it, there is nothing, nothing that ever makes it any easier to make that phone call. To say those words. "I need help."

It has to be one of the hardest things a person can do.

And it has to be one of the bravest, strongest things a person can do.

Choose Light over Darkness.

I called the number and I made an appointment with a therapist. I did it."

Source: http://yourenotthebossofme-jsn.blogspot.com/