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Truth Be Told, My Depression Actually Does Define Me
My depression tells me I’m broken.
It’s a sentence that’s been repeating through my head for the past few days. I’m broken. My heart is broken. My soul is broken. My spirit feels like it is irrevocably broken as well. I feel as though this upward climb I’ve been fighting through has just gotten steeper and I, myself, have gotten weaker. I battle through each day with a smile on my face for fear that if someone sees the pain underneath, they’d see the real me.
I talk to my depression like it’s another person. It visits me from time to time and I never know how long it’s going to stay. We get into arguments and we battle constantly over who is going to prevail. I keep saying it’s me but right now I’m not sure if it is.
I break so easily on things I never thought would hurt me. I miss a time when I used to get through the day without an Ativan. I miss not having to remember to take my antidepressants every day. I miss not feeling like getting out of bed was a chore and that my feelings weren’t a burden.
Because right now, my feelings do feel like a burden. I feel like I can’t be honest with people without them worrying I’m going to do something rash. I’m tired of depression being this big piece of me I have to constantly admit to. It feels like something I just want to keep hidden…
