I’m a pessimist. I’m admitting it, free and clear.
You probably wouldn’t make that assumption if you met me.
I’ve been called many things.
Carefree. Wild. Crazy. Fun. Odd. Exciting. Hilarious. Cute. Adorable. Happy. Amazing.
But most don’t know I’ve been called many other things.
Bitch. Cunt. Worthless. Nothing. Ugly.
Unfortunately, most of the worst things were said to me by my ex-husband. It was a toxic relationship, to say the least. My husband? He’s amazing. He’s a hard worker, and breaks himself everyday just to give us all maybe one extra thing. He lifts me up in every way he possibly can, and sometimes seems to go out of his way to do so.
But me? I’m just me.
I’m a depression survivor.
Depression isn’t something talked about often. And many people just don’t get it. A lot hold firm that it’s a desperate desire for attention, ridiculous that these people would cry all over themselves and harm themselves over something as miniscule as the radio not playing their song. I get that, because that’s pretty much what it’s hyped up to be anymore. It’s rarely taken seriously.
Put me in a circle with 6 women who are in toxic relationships as I once was. I will, in any way, shape, and form, try to PROVE to them that they are worth so much more than that. That life doesn’t have to be like this. That they need to look at themselves and realize that THEY are the only reason they need to keep going strong. They need to fight for THEM.
Put me in a room with any one of my kids and the first thing I tell them is how smart they are. I praise them on their discoveries, their advances in education, and how much they just know. I make it a point to tell my girls, all 3 of them, that they are gorgeous and never to let anyone tell them any different. They are all beautiful, inside and out, and they need to not just know, but believe this. I tell them I love them more than all the stars in the sky.
Put me face to face with my husband and I will thank him for everything he does. I’ll probably give him a shoulder rub in hopes to relieve some of his tension. I’ll tell him I love him more than he’ll ever know. I’ll thank him at random, for how he saved me. He’ll probably never realize how much.
Put me in front of a mirror, and the first question I’ll ask myself is why I haven’t just left the world yet. Why am I still here? What’s the point in getting out of bed in the morning? I’m easily replaced by hired help. I’ll take harsh notice to every imperfection plaguing my body, from the random stress breakouts on my face to the stretchmarks that adorn my body after giving life to 3 amazing children who are bound to change the world. I wonder if people would honestly miss me, or the things that I do for them. I wonder if I can even feel anymore. I crave to feel something, ANYTHING, aside from going down this wormhole of darkness that leads to nothing.
It’s a personal Hell. That’s what depression is, ladies and gentlemen. And the sad fact is that most of us can put a happy face on for everyone else. On the days we can’t, we stay hidden away from anyone. Why would anyone want to see us, me, anyway?
Recently, I hit a whole new level.
See, parenting was one of the things I never doubted. Before every major decision, you could always find me infront of the computer, finding out EVERY possible thing imaginable before deciding. If my kids had to go through something, I was right next to them, doing the same thing. Except immunizations. They frown on getting extras of those. And I have a major phobia of needles.
Now I’m just not sure that I’m doing anything right.
Are my kids just better off without me? Would they even care? Am I even doing this right? What if the worst possible outcome happens in their future over me insisting that they just try ONE new food? Did I screw them up for life? Did I ruin their amazing future ahead of them?
These days, I peel myself out of bed. I will myself to believe that today will be a good day. I convince myself that if I just get out of bed and throw a smile on, which is now my constant necessary accessory, I can make it. I tell myself that my kids need me for more than food and the occasional diaper change (i.e. Gabey).
Look, I know, I sound like this little poser emo kid. And if you know me, this just sounds like mumbo jumbo bullshit. I’ve done this dance for many years. I know how to put up an amazing front. But here’s where me and the stereotypical poser emo differ:
I GET UP.
No matter how I’m feeling. No matter how much I don’t want to face the day. No matter how much it physically hurts to know that I woke up, and that I now have to fight myself for another 10-20 hour period. I still get my ass out of bed. I’m still moving. I’m still breathing. I’m still living. And I refuse to let myself get upset about that when so many others are wishing and praying to have that same blessing over them.
Moral Of The Story
This is the face of depression.
And if I didn’t tell you, there’s a good chance you never would’ve known.
You may find me dancing in the car, singing at the top of my lungs, or you may find me in my house, on my couch, my hair a mess, with absolutely no motivation to do anything, barely breathing.
Depression is real, and many people suffer from it without getting help because of the stigma that comes with it. Don’t be one of those stereotyping people. Hug your friend or family member. Get ahold of one that you haven’t talked to in a while, just to say “HI!” and let them know you’re thinking about them. It’s not hard, it may just take 5 seconds. But it could change the world for someone.