A Letter to My Depression

To you, my constant companion. You, that little voice that assures me that I can't and that my efforts will never be good enough. You that takes both my energy and my sleep. You that poison my brain until even my body is sick. This one is for you.

In a way I kind of admire you. Me? I am spoiled to instant gratification and patience is a virtue that I can't fathom. If I climb a flight of stairs and can't find a milkshake nearby enough I am ready to lie down until the vultures start circling (though I suppose I can attribute a bit of that to you as well). It doesn't take a lot to defeat me at least in the short term. But you? My God, you're like the early settlers. You are able to wait patiently and silently and gather what little morsels and seeds you need to survive for as long as you need. Feeling good about myself? Taking care of my body, surrounding myself with positive people and trying to create opportunities for myself? That's cool. You're good. You can wait. You're just hanging on to that one unkind word from a trusted source, that bad day at work, that ruined project. You don't need them right now. You can plant and tend them and harvest them and feed on them until you are strong enough to attack me again and by then they've grown into something massive and so have you. It really is impressive. It's also the scariest thing about you. I can back you into a corner or drown you out, but you're still always there.

Kind of admire you, but I mostly just hate you. I hate that I don't remember how to be me when you are driving. I hate that not only am I not happy (that's to be expected sometimes, that's just life), but I can't actually remember what happiness feels like to me. I know it is in the world, but it is like shellfish: just something that my body rejects. I'm like a plant stuck in a closet with the door cracked open. I know the sun is out there, but I can't get to it and the longer I'm away from it, the worse I feel and the worse I get. I hate feeling guilty because I feel bad even though objectively I have a good life. There are people in the world who would kill for my problems. I hate that I'm unable to see that when you're taking an active role. I hate that when you're up and about I have to ask myself if I really think the things I'm saying or if I'm just speaking in your voice. I hate that you, like my coarse hair and my headaches and my bad thyroid, will always be a part of me.

But even if you are always something that I travel with, you aren't me. What's more, I have weapons. I have a handful of friends and family that love me unconditionally and support me despite our disagreements and no matter how unbearable you make me. I have my writing, which even when it's bad, is an outlet. I have comedy. Any time I am able to make someone laugh I am reminded "Right! That's what it feels like. I can feel that, too." What's more I have people who are far smarter, more creative and talented than me who are dealing with these same demons and I can draw inspiration from them. You're on top right now, but you aren't always going to be. I can and will win. And sure, that won't be the end of the match, it's just another round of punches thrown, but remember that every day I'm alive to say "This sucks and I don't want to feel this way anymore", I am getting closer to winning.

Cheers to you. I'll see you when you pass by me on your way back to the corner.

-C