Depression

There are things that are hard to express to people. Things that you just don’t get unless you’ve lived it. Depression is one of them. It’s not sadness, or the blues. It’s not feeling down. Honestly, to me, it’s more like not feeling at all. It’s the desperation to feel anything. Even if that thing is pain. Even if it is every bad dream you’ve ever dreamt. Every time you’ve ever been afraid. All of the negativity in your head, gushing out so that you feel something. It can’t use the good memories or the jokes that make you laugh so hard you can’t stop. Those things just won’t do, they are too temporary. If depression is really going to remind you how to feel, so that you feel something, it has to hit hard. It has to go deep, to the things that weigh you down.

I get depressed. No, I have depression. It is a constant battle. You’ve seen the pictures of the famous people who have died from suicide. The, “This is What Depression Looks Like” pictures. I have another to add. My own.

Most people know me as a relatively bubbly person. I’m known for brightening people's days, cheering people up when they are down, always wearing a smile, and in general, being an all around peachy person. I bet you can’t guess which picture of me most people know.

It’s not that I’m not that person or that I’m faking it. I really am, quite jolly. It’s how I cope. It’s my day to day battle with feeling nothing at all. I spend my time and efforts making my, and other people’s life, better, one smile at a time. I help people and try to brighten everything around me. I look for the little pieces of happiness and joy that the world has to offer and expand on them. This is also why, when I try to tell people that I’m depressed, they don’t quite understand. They see me, and that’s not what depression looks like.

Now look at the other picture. Does that look more like your idea of depression? Notice how the person pictured (me) is the same. I had the fortune of diving into my latest bout of depression while in quarantine. I say fortune because I didn’t have to ration my energy to seem like I was okay in front of other people while working through the depression behind closed doors. I could use all of my energy (which was very little) to get through it.

Now don’t get me wrong, depression doesn't come and go per se. It is always there, it’s just got an ebb and flow of how heavy it is. Some days are a lot heavier than others.

This particular picture was taken after one bad night and half of a bad day into what ended up being 3 days straight where I could not stop crying for more than a few minutes at a time. And not gentle tears falling down my face. Weeping. Sobbing. Wailing. I look much older than the picture next to it, which was taken two weeks later. I look like what the girl on the right, feels on the inside most days.

Depression has always been hard to deal with, it got harder when I had kids. Because now my depression is something I have to deal with, with an audience. Not just an audience, young minds that it is my job to help form. How do I handle it? Not always well.

Let me explain. Depression isn't just crying and not being able to get out of bed. It's also irritability. It's snapping at my kids for reasons they don't understand. But also apologizing for it afterward. It's being caught crying and asking my children if it's okay for moms to cry to. At first, they weren't sure, but through the years, they have come to always answer yes. It's being distant while also being their only source of comfort. It also comes with me having to work to teach them that, though it is amazing and brave to empathize with people, they don't have to feel my feelings with me. They can still be happy when I am not.

The benefits of this, my children are developing emotional intelligence. A couple of moments that show this, while they both hurt my heart and make it glow were these:

After about two months of a depression that was slowly but surely getting worse by the day, my then 4 year old said to me,

"Mom, why does your voice sound like that?"

"Like what buddy?" I weakly spoke.

"Sad." His matter-of-fact tone rippled through my chest.

It took all my courage to reply, "Well, buddy, because I'm sad."

I was found out by a child. My friends, co-workers, and family didn't notice. But he did.

A short few weeks after that, at my mom's house, he did it again. I was laying on the bed. My mom thought I was tired, not that I wasn't, I was exhausted, but he knew better. My mom told him I was tired and to let me sleep.

He said, “She’s not tired, she’s sad.”

If it hadn't been for his blunt child honesty, I may have never talked to my mother about my depression, and I've been dealing with it since I was a child myself.

I grew up with the idea that I should be ashamed of my depression. That I should keep it hidden. Never talk about. If I did, what would people think? They surely would not think I am strong or brave, definitely not fun or carefree, and what could matter more than being accepted?

Why would I say all of this, you may ask. This still isn’t a topic people are comfortable conversing about. It is still not something we are supposed to wave a flag of pride for. So why put this into the world?

Because I see you. I see you when you show up on time everyday, and I see the days you are running just a few minutes late. I see you when you are loving on your kids and when you feel bad because you yelled at them because your thoughts are too loud. I see you when you are on top of the world, when you are posting on socials so that people don't think anything is up, and when you lose the energy to pretend anymore and go ghost. I see you when your patterns change, and I worry. I see you in me, or me in you. I know you are trying, fighting, and winning (even when you feel you aren't). And I want you to know...

You are not alone.