Have you ever woken from a restless sleep
and wondered what the point of getting out of bed would be? Ever looked at
yourself in the mirror and wondered why you are you; what your purpose is?
Some of you have known me for a long time.
You may know me as ever-positive, smiling, happy-go-lucky, nothing stresses,
nothing irritates, nothing can break the effervescent spirit I exude. That may
sound cocky and self-obsessing, but the truth is, you don’t know me. For the
past year or so, my positive shining light has been a wall in front of a spirit
ladened with depression. I question the
point of getting out of bed regularly.
My friendships have fallen by the wayside. My employment and studies
have suffered. My faith and trust in God has become a dull reminder of what I
used to be so sure of.
You may wonder why I am writing this, why I
want to share what is beneath the mask of positivity. The answer is simple: I will no longer be
silent. This is not a selfish excuse to
unload all of my feelings on the unsuspecting web of readers, nor is it some
sort of therapy.
A number of years ago I was made aware of a
friend who was struggling with depression.
She had been attempting to battle this suffocating and soul crushing
sickness alone, hoping to overcome it without having to ‘burden’ her friends
and family with the knowledge that she needed help. While some would simply be a support, and try
to do what they can, I needed to understand what it was exactly that she was
struggling with. Instead of assuming it
was a sad state of mind; instead of telling her to stop feeling bad; instead of
ignoring her desperate need for support and love; I researched. I found numerous websites explaining that
depression is not, as is commonly assumed, a bad day or a sad state of
mind. I discovered the medical
explanations. I read about therapy and
support options. I became educated.
When I began feeling similar symptoms,
instead to relating my prior research to my own condition, I was in denial. I am
a happy person. I am ‘annoyingly positive’ (according to close friends…). I am bright, and bubbly. I can’t be depressed. I’m the one that helps
people, not the one who needs help. I can do this alone… And yet here I am,
suffering from the realisation that I have been diagnosed with depression.
This semester, instead of studying what I
love, at an arts college that has taught me so much about myself and my
abilities to create, I will be focusing on my health. It was a very difficult decision to make. I at times feel my depression worsening at the
realisation that this semester will be spent getting help, and developing
healthy friendships. This blog will be
part of my development. I feel the need
to share my story, my journey and my recovery.
Please understand how difficult this is for me to publish. I don’t like
admitting something is wrong, or that I need help. I am chronically putting off
seeing the doctor or the dentist for fear of being told something is wrong with
me. This is me, admitting to all who care to read, that I am flawed, I have an
illness and I need help.
A friend and colleague recently linked me
to this amazing song, a song that spoke to me in ways I cannot describe. I
leave you with this…
