As you may know, I’ve been feeling terrible for the last couple of months, since my depression has reared its ugly head again. I messaged Boopy several days ago, saying: hating myself is exhausting. Because it is. It’s utterly draining to always see myself in a bad light, to punish myself for being alive, to isolate myself so thoroughly.
One of my therapists told me something along the lines of, “Mental illness is like physical illness. When you’re sick, you take your medicine and rest until you feel better.” And that’s what I did: I’m taking my meds, talking about my feelings and reaching out to people, and going to therapy. I’m writing either on my blog or in my journal. When my mood dips dangerously low, I distract myself with Steam games, Youtube, or Star Trek: The Next Generation.
So far, my depression-fighting strategies seem to be working.
I’ve been feeling much better lately. Looking at my Daylio entries for the past week or so, there have been more good moods than bad. My appetite has returned (in full force, if I may add), I’ve mustered up the energy to shower, and I am finally able to sleep without crying first. The suicidal thoughts are still there, but they’ve become more passive rather than overwhelming.
I don’t want anyone to think I’m an ungrateful bitch, because I’m not (for the most part, anyway). I am grateful for so many things in my life: my family, who takes care of me; my friends and my boyfriend, who support me when I feel I’m going crazy; a job which I actually enjoy; my two beautiful cat-sons; and the material things I have which distract me when I’m in pain.
Depression is a bitch because it blinds me to all the lovely things I have. Right now, I could swear up and down that I won’t let it happen again, but it most likely will, so that’s futile. All I can do is hope that in the future, if this happens again, I’ll remember that I’ve gotten through hard times before, and I can do it again.