Curiouser and Curiouser...Exploring My Inner Wonderland

I am a depressive.

It feels weird to type this, like I'm both stating the obvious and making something real by speaking its name. The sly, malicious voice in my head is sneering something about how it always knew I was damaged, broken, less. The nervous one tells me to erase the words, to make them less true, to steal their power. Both are absurd and while I know this there is always a part of me that agrees with the voices.

I am a depressive and I am unmedicated by choice.

I have anxiety issues that manifest in various ways like being overwhelmed in chaotic-noisy places or panicking when I'm in a crowd. They also make me a fairly controlling and untrusting of anything I can't control. No one can guarantee that medication will always be available or effective so if I allowed myself to be dependent upon it a day could come when I would be defenseless, raw, in withdrawal, and unable to function because I took the easier road. To me, this is unacceptable. I live a smaller, more controlled life but it has ample goodness, beauty and joy so I feel fairly proud of being able to manage myself. It is not easy and I'd never suggest that; I do also recognize that it is not a valid choice for everyone.

I am persistent depressive and I hide it.

Why am I ashamed of something I can't control? I never liked my hair color or the fact that it is woefully thin and terribly straight, but I'm not ashamed of my hair. I have, however, spent a lot of money over the years to make it look different. I can say that I've never read our heard about anyone kicked out of school over their natural hair color like I was for being depressive. Society will band together to lift up someone with cancer, lupus, or autism but most people vanish swiftly and silently away at the mention of a mental illness. They distance themselves and treat you with extreme caution like they will catch depression of they accidentally come in contact with an infected tear. Having blue hair actually started conversations but being depressive ended friendships.

I was born a depressive.

I can't recall a single moment of my life that was not marked by a lurking depression. It is the elephant only I can see in every room. It is a war in my head over who is in control of my thoughts and emotions. It is me constantly consciously choosing to foster positive habits and not allowing myself to follow the bad thoughts into their descending spiral. It is episodes of major depression spiced with insomnia and topped with anxiety so severe I only leave my home to work or simply work from home. I remember recognizing it in kindergarten when i was unable to connect with anyone and tried so hard to be invisible. I recall feeling swamped in the blankness and choking on misery with tears sneaking down my face for no reason in third grade. I have hundreds of memories of looking around me confused as to why no one noticed the weight of sadness that consumed me and how no one else had immobilizing days when they cried for no reason. It never got easier and I still watch people live emotionally average lives with ups and downs, confounded by their normalcy. I occasionally feel a pang of envy though I don't allow myself to dwell on it because I honestly can't decide which of us is more emotionally colorblind; I remind myself that we are simply different and therein lies the beauty in life.

I am a depressive but I do not allow it to define me.

Despite this short piece of writing I do not define myself by my being persistent depressive any more than I'd define myself by my job title, my weight or the fact that I have a child. I am greater than the sum of my parts. I am a caring, creative, generous, productive, functional member of society. I may not always follow the rules but I'm consistent in the ones I support and those I disdain. I walk a fine line between great empathy and bleeding out for others. I'm a big believer in habits and processes though I always try to also leave room for happy chaos. I don't like charities so I frequently give to others directly in ways that I believe in. I dislike and distrust doctors and accountants. I believe in accepting people fully as who and what they are with no expectation of them ever changing or simply leaving them alone if I can’t. I have a deep fear of stairs due to a recurring dream of falling down a flight and dying that I have had since I was a child. I get giddy over food that turns my tongue blue.

Depression has many faces and stories. It has innumerable moments at 3am when someone wants very much to reach out but is so certain that no one is there. It is there at the party when someone wants to run away from the laughing and light conversation because the whole experience feels like a disjointed funhouse nightmare. It is in the dam of unspoken words between two people when one is so terrified of rejection they never allow the other person in. It is behind the quick jokes and insightful irreverence of those quiet but surprisingly funny people you feel a sudden connection to but rarely see again.

Depression is not a choice or something you can snap out of. Like hair, skin or eye color, it is part of who someone is. You can hide it, cover it up, pretend it doesn't exist, but there it is, still part of you. It is not something one can wish away or find a permanent cure for. What depressives need from you is acceptance, love, respect and an open mind. Ask questions, listen to them, be there without judgement, and gently voice your concerns when you think they’re in over their heads. 

“I know there is strength in the differences between us and I know there is comfort where we overlap…”

Ani DiFranco ~ Overlap