Depression is...

...funny. Not haha funny, but funny in the way in which the word is used to mean something that is so crazy you almost find it hard to believe. The way in which a coincidence is funny. Or irony is funny. A little sarcastic: a bit unbelieving that things could really be that way. You see--most people picture depression as a sadness. Something that forces you to crawl into bed and turn people away so you can cry in the dark all day long. Yes, depression can look like this, but that is just a hint of what depression can truly look like. Depression can be a myriad of emotions and feelings and thoughts and expressions. It is slightly different, yet entirely the same for each person. Mine is of sadness, and anger, and irritability, and thoughtfulness and yes, even of joy. I equate my struggles with postpartum depression as to that of a toddler. I can be utterly giddy with thankfulness and pleasure one moment, only for it to completely dissipate into irrational anger at some small thing where I turn to tantrums. It becomes an irritable anger so intense that it is pure uncaring hatred for anything in my way. Slamming doors and pounding fists. Stomping my feet across the floor, I fear at what I could use this anger for-what I could break, what I could hurt only to instantly regret and then, suddenly......the floor cracks underneath my stomping feet and disappears and some large, unseen beast comes up and swallows me whole as I tumble into that black space beneath the floor. He sucks out my insides and leaves me feeling a loss of which I never knew existed. A desire to sob uncontrollably, but the inability to find the source of my tears. A restless desperation to find them and set them free that lasts on into the night as stumble around in the darkness, looking. And occasionally, I find them-and what bliss it is to cry. Yet, how horrifying to discover the depths of my tears. The oceans of salt water existing inside me. This fear causes me to turn away from all-to wish to be alone in my personal drowning. How can anyone save me from this well that is inside myself? That circular life preserver cannot pull me to safety as I am not in the ocean, but the ocean is in me. Rather than unknowingly cling to someone in a desperate attempt to save myself, dragging them deep, I push them away. But, if they fight through my shoving hands, if they meet me in my ocean of tears and wrap me in a long, warm, strong hug-I cry harder, forcing that ocean out in raw, unwarranted sobs until I discover it is absorbed there in their t-shirt. The fact that a single t-shirt can hold entire oceans will never cease to amaze me. Nor will I ever stop being amazed that someone cares for me more than I, myself, possibly could in that moment. That they will fight for me. And, then, as if on a breeze...I am back to some other thought. Some other feeling. Some other moment. Some other day.


Depression is irritating. It is as if I am dragging my heart through the sand, each little particle embedding itself in a little deeper until I itch and ache. I do not want to feel this way, and yet I know no other way. I am frustrated with the pain, the anger, the hurt, and yet, I cannot figure out how to stop. How to change my path. My anger is deep, yet knowing it is there only makes me more angry. I snap-because I cannot rid myself of the feeling to snap, which makes me angry enough to put me over the edge. I become irritated at my heart. At my humanness. At myself. I cannot shake this irritation, this desire to not feel the way I do with no clue how to reign my feelings back in, to shut them down. I desire to feel normal, yet I cannot feel normal and it makes me crazy.

Depression is confusing. With so many thoughts and feelings flooding my brain, I feel as if I am losing control. I cannot concentrate on one thing. I forget what I am doing or where I am going. I forget what I wanted or where I can find it. I feel lost. I feel as if I am in a race where suddenly the start became the finish and no one clued me in. Everyone is running backwards and I continue gamely on as people swarm and surround me so that I cannot see my ultimate goal. I feel as though I am in a game of  which I originally understood, and then the rules completely changed and I am doing everything wrong, at the wrong times, with the wrong people. I can no longer make sense of reality. It is a logical knowing of the fact that, I have things good. That life is great and I am truly blessed. Still, it's the inability to get my feelings to match this logic all the time. To feel as if  my life is especially hard, or especially difficult, even while knowing it is not.

Depression is depressing. I berate myself every unwashed dish, every child's plea unfulfilled, every shower not taken. I agonize over every unorganized closet, every cobwebbed corner, every meal not made. I find all my flaws- any extra weight, perceived or real, any act of rudeness... meanness... thoughtlessness. And then I berate myself for berating myself and I cannot stop. I spiral into my self doubt, deeper and deeper.

Depression is exhausting. All those thoughts and feelings within the space of a few moments is tiring. The depths of those feelings tiring. But, more than that, I know I need to fight these feelings. I need to give myself leeway. I need to know that this is life-life is unwashed dishes, uncooked meals, unorganized closets. I need to remember that I am caring; a mother who loves completely her children, even if I do not respond to every moment with the attention it deserves. I need to remember that my husband feels loved, even though I do not wake up and make him breakfast each morning. I need to have patience with myself. I need to be vigilant for the negative thoughts and fight them. Vigilance is tiring. Fighting is tiring. No matter how many times I see the goodness in my life-the sunny smile of my baby, the beauty of a blue sky, a golden leaf, a long swim, a gentle walk, the abundance of my home, my family, my friends-I still need to force it upon myself again and again. I need to fight with my eyes and my brain to see and remember these things. I need to be conscious and vigilant at noticing each joy and fight through the greyness that can so quickly descend. Vigilance is tiring work. Fighting is tiring work. I need to force myself to move- I feel so confused, and sad, and angry, and annoyed that it can become so easy to just sit. To stare at the clouds out the window. To not eat. To not sleep. To not think. I have to be vigilant against these feelings. I have to fight through the confusion and take things step by step. I have to fight through the sadness and find the happy moment again. I have to fight through the anger and find my good cheer. Vigilance is tiring. Fighting is tiring. I need to reach out to people. I need to be vigilant against the monster who whispers that it is better to just let them go. I need to fight him, too tell him I do care about them, as they care about me. Vigilance is tiring. Fighting is tiring. Getting out the door is tiring. Thinking is tiring. Sleeping is tiring. Depression is all these things, but most of all, fighting depression is a battle I cannot do alone. I need love, support, and kindness even as I snap at you and push you away. It is so much easier to just give in, to not feel, to not think....to sink.


*for a description of depression that will have you in tears, visit Understanding Me, and this post here.