Ever since leaving the hospital a couple years ago—following the peak of my mental breakdown—I feel like I am expected to be more stable than everyone else. When something bothers me, or I’m in a bad mood, it’s not a human thing, it’s a “did you take your medicine?” thing.
Then, when my depression gets bad, I feel like I can’t say it. If I say it, people won’t understand, they’ll question me and it will only get worse. So I suffer through in the silence, my body feeling like it’s dying away and no one understands.
No one to hear, help. Alone.
Some days/weeks are just bad. It is my reality. And I know I will get through, but that doesn’t help when I am in the moment, feeling the numbing, paralyzing pain that is depression. It holds your body down, squeezes your chest and whispers every bad word or memory in your ear. I don’t know what I need in those times. You can’t make it better. But you can hold me. You can sit beside me while I stew and ache, and you can let me know I am not alone. It doesn’t sound fun, and I am sure it’s not. But you have no idea what you are saving me from just by being there.
I am sharing this because I am not the only one who feels this way or needs this. Needs to be accepted, embraced and heard. In those helpless moments when you don’t know what to do, just stay. Even in the silence, stay, because when we are silent, is when the worst war happening inside us.
And no matter how stable the medicine makes us, or far away we get from our worst breakdowns—depression never leaves, and will find away to suffocate the life out any chance it gets.
If you suffer with mental illness and want to share this, please do. And let’s continue the support and strides for hope and health.
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