I want to talk about depression (again) because I read something today that really struck me as I am struggling with my own battle.
Over the years, I think people are becoming very slightly more aware of it, but I also have found it’s been glamorised into something it isn’t.
Depression has been depicted has something we cry about alone and only ever play sad songs to and hide under a duvet curled up in a ball and wallow in our own self misery.
SOMETIMES that is correct, but this isn’t always the case… well, not for me.
I have a little spot, on my boat, a place right in front of the fire, leaning my back to the oven and I sit there most nights and I watch the fire go wild. It’s like a form of peace. It’s my safe place, it’s my sad place, it’s my happy place and it can be my angry place. It’s my place where I wait for someone to come and pick me up, it’s my place where I wait for someone to come and sit down with me and it’s my place that I sit at alone.
Sometimes I cry, but most of the time I don’t, I just sit there. Thinking about everything.
I tried really hard to promise myself that I would never make my dream home a place that I associate with depression, but that is just silly. I carry it with me everywhere I go and the more I fight to not accept it and not accept it at home the worse I make myself. So now I just accept it at home, get that fire on and pop my bottom down in that spot and think.
This week has been by far the most difficult week I’ve dealt with. I haven’t wanted to eat because I have been unwell. Headachy and feeling just generally poorly. Which in turn means I feel weaker and lower and noticing that black cloud has been getting bigger and bigger. But the more it gets like this the more I want to hide away and not see anyone, not talk to people.
It’s the most frustrating thing knowing what I need to do to pull myself out of this ‘funk’ but not having an ounce of energy to drag myself up and do it.
I haven’t spoken to anyone in a while because I hate the thought of anyone looking at me as broken or a burden. Silly, right?! But that’s how I feel. Everyone in life struggles and I often feel like I never want to offload my shit to people when in a world where Donald Trump is president and people are blowing themselves up every single day… why the fuck would I want to bring more worry to someone I love and care about.
BUT I know that isn’t the answer. I know I need to talk. But like I said in a previous post. Sometimes you just can’t talk. But if you can do something that gets that feeling out of your body then do it.
For me, it’s writing. I write and I write and I write, I have so many draft emails and notes saved in my iPhone of times when I can’t talk but I so desperately want to get this feeling out of my body.
My writing isn’t profound, I am rubbish with grammar and half the stuff that comes out of my head doesn’t even make sense. But its writing non-the less.
For me depression isn’t black and white, it’s not something out of a movie that has been romanticised if you will. It’s not romantic and sometimes it’s unexplainable, sometimes it’s so clear what the cause is. But the one thing it’s not is beautiful or a quote from a Pinterest page with fluffy clouds in the background. Sometimes it’s dark, like upside down, Stranger Things dark.
I can’t leave you with any inspirational words, I don’t really have any. I think I just wanted to show whoever is reading this that this is my way of thinking about things and dealing with myself each day. I guess I’m getting all this blurb out of my head because at the end of the day I just want to feel normal.
By Lucy May