This past Saturday, I wrote a post about being in the throes of depression. I wrote it mostly as a way to vent a little and maybe as a way to feel a little better. By Monday, I was on the mend, and today I feel like my normal self. Whee. Who knows how long it’ll last. Could be days (gosh no), weeks (please), or months (wishful thinking).
The point is, I am feeling better. But you know something? I now cringe at my post from last week. So much so that I want to just delete it. I feel embarrassed to have it out there. I don’t want people to pity me, or think I’m trying to get attention. In short, I am ashamed of my bouts of depression.
Why is that? If I had high blood pressure or the flu or some other ailment, would I feel so reluctant to say something? Probably not. Logically, I know there’s no good reason for me to be so mortified that others know I occasionally struggle with depression. See? I automatically try to underplay it. It’s only every once in awhile. Just a little bit. Occasionally. Yeah right.
I can’t make much sense of it. I guess that’s another reason that depression sucks. Depression is like an abusive partner–it convinces you after the fact that the emotional beatings it doles out really aren’t that bad. That you’re overreacting. That you’re really the problem and so it’s something you shouldn’t talk about with others because they’ll judge you for being so whiny and pathetic.
I don’t know–maybe I am being whiny, but I don’t think so. Either way, I am just glad that I’m out of the fog and able to function like a normal human being. Here’s to being a bit more open. Who knows, maybe it’ll help.