when you lose something you can’t replace

I read this post by Heather from Dooce a few days ago, and quite literally, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.

Mostly because yet again, I have found comfort and solace in the words that she is so accurately able to depict with such perfection – it’s as if our brains are on the same wavelength. And lately, that’s something that I’ve been craving, even if it comes from the mouth of someone I’ve never met. But then again, sometimes that’s just exactly what you need, right? You need that bit of convincing that says it’s okay to talk about it, and that you’re not alone.

Well, it’s all I needed to get this out anyways.

When I was 16, I was “diagnosed” with depression. I quote that because even now, I still can’t be sure that it wasn’t just that normal (and horrific) imbalance of teenage hormonal angst that was causing my parents to wonder when Satan himself had decided to take up residence in the basement of our home. But then again, there is a difference in “normal” teenager crazy and waking up one day sobbing because you just slept for 14 hours (for the third day in a row) and are still just so tired.  Where you can’t remember the last time you laughed or smiled. Oh and the fact that you can’t stop screaming “YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND! I AM NEVER GOING TO BE HAPPY AGAIN!”

Suffice it to say, I shouldn’t have been completely shocked when my parents took it upon themselves to find me a therapist and withhold the option of asking me if I wanted to go or not.

Now my first ever therapist, well, she didn’t help me very much.  I think it was due to the fact that I a) was a shithead teenager and didn’t want to go and b) I didn’t like her. I was never able to reach the point where I felt comfortable opening up to her to even attempt to figure out what was “wrong” with me. Because in my mind, I didn’t know why I was just so sad all the time but there had to be something wrong since people just don’t get sad for no reason. But I never got my answer. I was prescribed Prozac and then my twice weekly sessions dwindled to one and then eventually none.  And then when Prozac didn’t cure me, I stopped taking that too. I may have been “better” but I was still angry. Oh, was I angry.

Unexplainable sadness. Irrational anger. Repeat repeat repeat. I’ve fought with this for as long as I can remember and to tell you that it’s frustrating would be the biggest understatement of my life. It’s almost impossible to put into words the frustration of being so sad that it’s all you can do to not curl up into the fetal position and sob just because it’s what your brain is telling you to do. It gets to the point where you’re almost wishing that something tragic would happen just so that you have a justifiable reason to be this upset. But at the end of the day you also know that even if that were the case, you would eventually move on from it and still be just as sad. So then you’re just all “what’s the point?” and you start crying anyways.

It’s taken years for me to accept that ever since I was diagnosed and clinically treated for depression, it is going to be something that I will battle for the rest of my life. Even with medical treatment, it will never fully go away and it’s scary knowing that I will never find the answer that I’ve been searching for. I am fortunate in the sense that while I am afflicted with this, it isn’t nearly as debilitating for me as it is for others. I’ve found ways to cope throughout the years that doesn’t include relying on therapy and/or medication (though I have found that both do make it easier, for obvious reasons) yet I also know that some people aren’t as lucky. To be clear – it doesn’t make me better than others or anything of the sort. If there’s one thing that I’ve learned throughout this journey it’s that this disease, depression, does not discriminate. Nor is it something to be ashamed of. It just happens and we are left to figure it all out from there. We start fighting and never stop, simply because we can’t.

So, this is my story.  One that I don’t think that I’ve ever really told anyone, and also my open apology because I haven’t been myself for awhile. It’s been particularly tough lately and, as it was pointed out, September is specifically a rough month for “those of us who have those frayed circuits in our brains.” But then again like Heather said, after September comes October and then November and so on and so forth where I won’t want to hibernate and cry for no reason. And considering that tomorrow marks the first day of October, I can say with certainty that I too am looking forward to winter.