It's been a few months since I wrote this post; its been sitting in my draft folder while I worked up the courage to hit the 'Publish' button.
"One day you wake up afraid you are going to live." -Elizabeth Wurtzel
That is what happened to me. From the onset of my suicidal ideation problems, when I was 9 or 10 or 11, I believed I would die before or around age 21. I don't know why that age specifically, like why do people believe in Santa? When 21 came to pass, the reality of the never-ending storm took hold of me in a vice grip. This was never going to end. My depression would never have the kindness to let me die of it. I would not develop inoperable brain cancer. I would not be mercifully crushed in a car accident, or shot on a midnight walk. I was going to live. Live and suffer for years. The thing inside me would tear and claw and I would bleed and bleed, but never die.
I choose to believe that there may someday be a day when I am cured, but to protect myself, I don't count on it.
The truth is that I am prepared to fight indefinitely. At some point I stopped letting thoughts of suicide be at all forbidden. I then did my best to really look at what I believed about life and living. I weighed what I thought and believed and I chose to fight the depression & the suicidal ideation and to do my best to live as long and as full of a life as I possibly could. The power of making that choice is the power I have harnessed for my life going forward. That is the power I return to when I feel the expanding cavern of depression in my abdomen. It is my foundation for the life I build from now onward.
Look, I get that this is uncomfortable to read. I'm not sorry for sharing it, though (or at least I'm trying not to be)
. See, since the onset of my depression when I was but a wee lass, I have always been hiding all of my symptoms with a feverish passion. Part of trying to heal myself is trying not to be afraid to share what I'm going through, even if its pants-poopingly scary. I read somewhere that an obstacle to overcoming Depression is that we "get good at" being depressed, and hiding is how I do that. So in an effort to overcome yet another aspect of this damn irritating illness, I'm writing a little of what I feel here.
Oh and don't worry, I have an appointment to see a therapist in a few days, and I've been seeing someone else for med management stuff. So at this point I don't intervention-style need help, I'm just tired of being silent about my illness. I'm tired of the pressure to say nothing.