Maybe it’s the lack of sleep from RLS. Maybe it’s the self-respect that my parents instilled in me. Maybe it’s the belief they taught me that I can do anything I put my mind to doing, but all the feminist crap is getting on my nerves. Am I a bare-foot, pregnant homebody that loves to cook clean, sew, and play happy homemaker? NO, none of those words describe me. Do I love to cook? Yes, I do. Do I love to clean? Hell, no, I hate it. I hate laundry, too. Do I sew? I have no clue how to even thread a machine.
There are some days that I completely decimate a to-do list, and other days I can’t get motivated for squat. Some people would call this being lazy, but they don’t understand that I am still dealing with depression. You never really get rid of it. It stays, like an unwanted guest and rears its ugly head when you least expect it. It’s always there, waiting to pounce when you’re tired, stressed, or are just dealing with more than you think you’re capable of coping with.
Depression turns you into a liar. It does, truthfully. It’s just as bad as being a drug addict or an alcoholic. When you are at a low point, you assume no one understands what you are going through, and so, you tell friends and family that you are fine and that nothing is wrong. You put on a smile, push back the tears, make jokes, and do your best to get back home where you can wallow in your own sadness, alone.
If we do decide to tell someone, they think we’re just sad and it will pass. No, it won’t.
Please, don’t try to cheer me up.
I don’t need jokes or to be tickled. I need to be held. I need to be listened to, and empathized with. I need someone there I can open up to that won’t interrupt me or make a wisecrack. I just need someone to listen, and on occasion, someone to hold me as the tears run like flood waters.
No, I can’t shake it off.
It’s always there. It’s the darkness that lingers and makes every whispering doubt into screaming banshees. It becomes the voice I can’t ignore. It’s not that easy.
It’s not just a phase.
It’s depression, and whether it’s clinical, due to a chemical imbalance or other reason, it can never be cured. It can be stemmed. It may become easier to stave off, but it never goes away. It makes a home in the deeper recesses of your brain and stays.
I know you hate seeing me this way.
I hate being this way, but sometimes the burden gets too heavy, and road seems intolerably long and all uphill. Sometimes, just sometimes, I wish I could crawl into a dark hole and tell the world to go away.
Just be patient and understanding.
I need that. I really need that. I don’t need cheering sections, and comedians. I need someone who will understand. I need someone who will truly listen. I need someone who is patient enough to ride the roller coaster with me and not blame it on hormones or overreacting.
This is the true face of depression, and I hope this helps those that don’t suffer from to aid those who do.