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The War Within… a Letter

The truth, reality – I question it’s existance. What I felt yesterday often seems so distant. I reach for it… grasp onto it, clinging for life, almost literally. Tiny hands extend from inside my mind wiping away at the negative illusion I feel like was created without my permission. Cheap windshield wipers only smearing the negative recollections among the positive.

Is

that

REALLY

how

I

feel?

Or is that the medication talking? or is that the depression talking? It’s dark in here. Too dark to find the light switch and with every step I stumble.

I’ve got to sit down. I’m tired.

 

I have to tell you  this while I can:

The truth is, I love you. I love the person you are and the person you are to me. I think you know this, even if in the moment I’m not giving you the reassurance I know you deserve.

You love me, too. I know it. You show me. You tell me. With your touch, I feel it… most days. Depression clouds my thoughts, sometimes so much so that my senses shut down. I don’t feel you. I barely see you. I stare and you’re there, but my mind can’t grasp onto you. You love me, right? Sometimes, I believe you. Sometimes, I believe depression.

I know you prefer the good days. To hear you tell it, you’d take any day with me. But, I know… honestly I do… the good days are better – when I’m smiling, strong, witty, patient and advantageous. I prefer them too.

Sometimes I don’t even see the cloud approaching, sometimes I only notice it days into the storm, but whenever it cast it’s ugly shadow – I’m frozen in my tracks, petrified. Sometimes I tell you, sometimes I don’t. Sometimes you’ll know it, even when I won’t.

Hold me. To ask if I’m okay is always what you’ll do but we both know what I’ll say. Don’t believe me. In the dark that consumes me, I need your light.

I’ll overreact.

I’ll cry.

I’ll be angry.

I’ll blame you.

You’ll reassure me. You’ll hold me. You’ll respond with patience. You’ll take the blame.

Hold me. To ask if I’m okay is always what you’ll do but we both know what I’ll say. Don’t believe me. In the dark that consumes me, I need your light.

 

Break the silence. Say the words I can’t.

Some days, depression is all consuming. Your kind words will stab at my mind like tiny knives. I’ll snear at you. I want to hear them EVEN if every inch of my being tells you I don’t. When my response sounds empty, please know, it’s full.

Full of fear. Full of pain. Full of sorrow.. Says depression.

Full of hope. Full of love. Full of strength… I swear.

 

And baby… I promise my hair won’t always be in a ball. You know – you’ve seen it shined and curled. Ah, the good days. And I haven’t thrown away my good clothes just my desire to change out of these.

Thank you for telling me I’m beautiful. Sometimes, I believe you. Sometimes, I believe depression. 

 

I’m not a good mom everyday, despite what you say. Look at him, innocence beaming from his eyes. He’s truely perfect. I love him, his words, his diction, his every move. I know you know that. I’m pretty sure he does too. My depression tells me today he’ll doubt it. Remind him again if you will… I know you always do. Thanks for understanding for him and for you. 

…baby, can you see this thing?

This monster is ugly. He’s coated with anxious fur, he smiles with fear-filled fangs, he claws at me with anger, and stares at me with eyes that suck my soul dry. His roar is that of passive-agressive silence.

I lock his cage every morning, 9 am on the dot with determination. I chase that zoloft key down with 8 ounce of water. He won’the get out. He’s beckoning to eat me alive. He can’t. I won’t let him. You want let him. But… no matter how tight his chains… today, they rattle.

Your arms wrapped tight around me are often my escape.

The monster naps. The storm quiets.

Your words drown out my thoughts.

Your understanding, your patience, your love – all my constant  refuge.

Thank you.

Thank you for loving me on the cloudy days..  for covering me on the rainy days.. for pulling me out of the storms or dancing with me amidst the tornado.

Thank you for fighting this monster like the prince charming you truly are. For constantly handing me the weapon I need to fight him when I’ve dropped it, thrown it, or misplaced it.

Thank you for loving me. Happy me, sad me, angry me, anxious me, scared me, depressed me, strong-willed me, impatient me… all of me.

 

 

 

 

Depression is real. We fight it every day. It’s a monster or it’s a storm – personified by its existance in our minds and in our every day lives. Sometimes it’s blinding, all-consuming, and difficult while other times it lies dormant beneath our skin. There is no escape, no cure, no answer. But there is love. There is patience. There is understanding.

If you or someone you know suffers from depression, remember this:

Some days we shine and some days we die a little inside; any day we do either will lead us to the next.

 

 

 

 

 

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