On Bell #LetsTalk

I wrote this on January 25, 2017. It feels apt to post now, and get off my personal Facebook.

Before starting this, I have to express my continued disappointment that Bell insists on inserting their company name into the #BellLetsTalk hashtag; the amount of value they get in this marketing far outstrips the 5c they donate per its usage, and I am cynical to think that they wouldn’t do any of this otherwise. Not the most positive sentiment, but I feel passionately on this issue and resent a corporation inserting themselves directly in it from a place of altruism, all the while benefitting far beyond the cost to them.

Anyways.

I believe that depression is not something you fix. It is something you manage. It is something you beat down and barricade into a closet, unable to lock it in for good; you stack things in front of the door and hope that this time you can delay it longer, or that it won’t have the strength to break out.

Sometimes it works, but temporarily; sometimes it feels like it grows bigger in proportion, coming back worse to make up for the time it spent out of the forefront of your mind.

I can’t count the amount of times I have not wanted to get out of bed in the morning — not because of comfort or laziness, but due to pessimism or anxiety towards what’s to come. It’s probably the same amount that I’ve laid there at night, letting the “what if’s” keep me from sleeping.

I can’t count the amount of days I’ve lost to negative spirals, the panicked messages to friends about nothing, or the “bad days” spurred by something that shouldn’t matter. There are times when by all accounts I “should” be happy; trips, holidays, parties, meals get suddenly derailed and feel wasted.

I can’t count the times I’ve decided that faking a good mood is the easier route than explaining to family or friends what is truly “wrong;” it’s better than the feeling of knowing you affected someone else’s good time, or the worry that you’re dumping your problems on someone either unwilling or unequipped to deal with them.

That’s the big one: you feel like you should be strong enough to handle it on your own, but sometimes lack the person you know that can process what you KNOW sounds like something completely irrational. Knowing is the worst part.

You see friendships, family and acquaintances drift away because you can tell that they don’t know how to process how you are. Sometimes, you feel like you cannot give an answer to “how’s it going?” besides one that is overloading and negative, so you stop trying to say anything besides “fine.”

Ironically, the same dismissal comes up when people genuinely try to reach out to you, but you have no idea how they can help.

Depression frustrates me mostly because it conflicts with my drive and ambition; it feeds into feelings of inadequacy and a fear of reaching my potential, exacerbates it, and gives nothing back. Instead of gaining from a humble or passionate mindset, it leaves me with only the negatives of both.

Medication is supposed to leave you “on an even playing field” to deal with it, but the size and strength of the fight sometimes becomes too much to handle. Knowing before a moment what you need to do to change yourself for the better, only for it to evaporate when you need it is disheartening: you wonder if you’re strong enough to make that change, or whether you’re just being too comfortable and lazy. You start to wonder if your meds even do anything anymore.

You find… SOMETHING comfortable that allows you to center yourself. Something that when you’re doing it, you don’t feel like garbage. Something you know that will always be there. However, in indulging in that, you wonder whether you’re ALLOWED to or DESERVE to, when other people cannot run from their suffering as easily. You worry that trying to stop being as self-aware means losing empathy that is extremely needed these days.

You wonder if you’re “allowed to have as hard of a time” with the things that people deal with (and in worse situations than you). You wonder how THEY push on when they don’t have a parent’s basement to move back to when they fail, or a therapist you can get support from every week. You wonder if you’re truly making an effort.

You realize, again, that all this can sound irrational or conflicting to a reader or a listener — dealing with that chaos along with the specificities is the entire point. Dumping all this here serves the point of explaining just how much people might be dealing with all at once.

While it frustrates me, I’m starting to accept that my depression will always be a part of me. I’ve wanted my first tattoo (if I ever get one) to be something simple: a black band around my arm, or just a square or a spot to represent and remind me that it is always going to be there, but it doesn’t always have to be the biggest part.

It’s helped me find a balance, a confidence, an identity — sure, I’d love to have reached those things without it, but we’re already past the point where I could. All I can keep doing is pushing, listening to what feels right for myself, and trusting that I’m making slow progress, even if I can’t always see it.

Thanks for reading this. Your support means everything to me, and other people who might be suffering. The cure isn’t a pill or injection; it’s having the empathy to be able to be there for the people who need it, and help them however we can.