I am not a person that will suffer with depression. This is because I am a coper. I am someone who copes and gets on with things and does not say that things are hard because things are hard for everyone. I am not unmotivated and exhausted because I am depressed. I am unmotivated and exhausted because I am lazy. And fat. And disgusting. And a waste of all of the space. And worthless. I do not prioritise basic self care such as showering or brushing my hair, not because I am depressed. But because I am a mother now and I should come last after everyone else, This is motherhood. I am not so depressed sometimes that I cant see or hear or think. I cant see or hear or think because I am so stupid and can’t multi task and I need to pull myself together because I am a mother now.
I never feel like I am a good enough mother, or a good enough wife, or a good enough friend, or a good enough daughter, or a good enough sister, or a good enough employee, or just a good enough human. This has nothing to do with suffering from a depression that cripples your sense of self and worth. I feel this way because all of this is true, I am not good enough at anything so I need to try harder. I will absolutely try harder tomorrow. But I will probably fail because I am utterly useless.
I want to run away from my babies sometimes. The weight of responsibility to do it right and be the best mother for them is too much. This is because I am a complete waste of space and a terrible person. A terrible mother. This is not because I have depression, and because I have put so much pressure on myself to get this right for them, that it is making me ill.
I don’t stand in my home surrounded by chaos and mess, unable to do anything about it because I feel completely paralysed by my own brain. I do nothing about it because I am lazy and deserve to live in chaos. I don’t constantly think about how I could and should do all of the things better because my anxiety makes me over-analyse absolutely everything. I think about doing all of the things better because I need too. Because I am actually doing everything badly.
I can’t have depression because I don’t really believe in it.
I have judged those that suffer with depression and anxiety because they are weak. They do not know how to cope and they chose to feel miserable.
They chose to feel that way. It’s a choice.
Except; what person would chose to feel that way? Some people are so desperately ill inside of their own actual heads that they only way to feel better is to no longer exist. This is not a choice. Some people will never get the help they need because they don’t believe in depression, or anxiety, or that the way they feel is not normal. And that actually, people who are well, do not feel that way.
I never really understood depression. I sympathised greatly with those who I knew genuinely suffered but have been sceptical of others. I am ashamed about that. I have judged and discussed and analysed other peoples mental health as an outsider. As someone who would never suffer with depression, because I choose not too. I choose to cope, I choose strength, I totally choose to be normal and like all other mentally stable people because being depressed must be so damn embarrassing.
What a total utter asshole.
I had no idea what my brain had in store for me, or that I would become the person I had once believed had chosen to live in darkness.
Accepting that I am ill has taken me a long time. Being able to talk about it has taken even longer. And feeling unashamed or blameless is still a work in progress. But my goodness, my heart is open to anyone who has, does or ever will feel this way. There will be no judgements from me. But I will buy you a massive coffee, and I will tell you you are not alone.