If All You Have Is That You Woke Up Today…

I want to talk about the elephant in the room.

I want to talk to people who aren’t too glamorous and pumped up on their own bullshit to talk about what life is really like.

I want to talk to people who know that life is amazing but it’s not a dream and that you don’t get out of it without a few dozen scars.

I want to talk to myself, to be honest. I want to be friends with myself. Because lately she seems to be the only person I know that gets it.

Because people will tell you that happy, successful, fun people don’t suffer from depression. And I’m hear to tell you that those people are idiots.

I’m happy most; if not every day of the week — every day, but not every hour of said day, the difference. I essentially found a way to work for myself/build my own career and based on my own metric values, I consider myself successful. And as someone known for charm and humor, I’d probably pop chewing gum in your hair if you told me I’m not fun — sounds childish, but this is a blog and if I can’t live vicariously through writing then where can I?

My point is any type of person, that does anything, and looks like anyone can suffer from depression in any variety of ways under any variety of circumstances. Mine, equal parts genetic and situational, is this ever living part of my life that I have to keep in check. Sometimes it’s because my mom and I fought, because my best friend hates me, because I flunked a test but — sometimes it’s because it’s 10:13am on Wednesday and the neurons in my brain misfired so now I lack the ability to lift my led-like body out of bed. Shit happens.

Depression could possibly be everything you’ve seen on TV and in Films and in mini-dramas like 13 Reasons Why.

But you know what else it looks like?

That blurring of sunrises and sunsets and throwing best efforts at the wall knowing that if anything bounces back there’s no consciousness home to receive it. It’s all the unchecked emails. It’s I probably should’ve washed my hair today but getting dressed and bobbing along my day was effort enough. Smiling and nodding and engaging was effort enough. Saying no to destructive habits was effort enough. It’s all that draining every day action that feels fruitless because no one’s home, but the lights are all on. 
You are still ticking and rolling and doing… but no one is home.

In the words of Sarah Silverman, depression is feeling homesickness but you’re home so the feeling is insatiable.

Depression is Bella Swan sitting in that damned chair staring out the window day in and day out for months, but it’s also doing yoga because someone said yoga would help, and going to therapy because someone said talking about your ex-bestie and your mommy issues every Tuesday at 1pm would help, and biking… that will help… and eating hummus…. and traveling… and partying… and socializing yourself to death… so why fucking not? And then those things, those cure alls, in fact not helping.

If you’re anything like me — falling in and out of the scope of stereotypical glamorous depression and the other, if not, more real shit —

All you have is that you woke up today. And this little hope that if you keep waking up today, every day, day after day, something will normalize. Something will make sense.

I’ll even level with you, I’ve been feeling the void at the edge of my spidey senses since I was a kid, so I don’t know that it ever fully goes away — in the terms of a mental illness condition. But I do know that even though I’ve been sick most of my life I’ve found countless things that made me incredibly happy that I have continued to wake up day after day. So keep getting up.

Fired from your job? Lame.
But keep getting up.

Husband leave you for a girl he met 24 hours from Tulsa? Wack.
But keep getting up.

Your rapist got off in court? I love you.
But keep getting up.

The police officer that killed your son/brother/friend/cousin/yet another person in your ethnic diaspora got a promotion? I feel you. I’m with you.
But keep getting up.

Lessoning the amount of sunrises you get to see serves nothing. You were not born to be a martyr for pain.

And stop placing undue tension on yourself. As a friend once told me, it takes how long it takes.

Having a better job now does not equal instantaneously feeling better.

Having the perfect spouse (honestly I could write an entirely separate blog on why perfect spouses don’t exist & how disillusioned it is to think any one person will check off your laundry list of ideas about love and that real love is a choice not something you magically fall into but digressing) does not mean you are not allowed to feel grievances

You don’t have to feel like an ungrateful little jerk for still dealing with pain under idea or happy circumstances.

You are human and your healing and your journey takes how long it takes.

So please keep waking up. Maybe we’ll count the days together.

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