“Depression is a liar.”

A few days ago, I came across a reply on Twitter: a blog post on mental illness. I read through it and I found that I was able to relate to so much of its content. I replied to the writer’s tweet and said that I understand how he feels, but that I wish I didn’t. Because I wish we lived in a world in which depression does not exist, so nobody would ever have the need to understand it.

Depression is many things. And depression is nothing. Sometimes it makes you feel so many bad things all at once. And sometimes you just feel nothing at all. And it’s kind of hard to decide which is worse. Depression is a mental illness that takes so many lives a year just like any other physical illness. It’s often treated as something less than other problems. Something that’s made up for attention. But I can tell you that it’s very, very real. It’s everywhere around us. And it is very sad.

With that in mind, one line of the post stood out to me the most. “Depression is a liar.”

My life has definitely not been a terrible one, but things have happened through the years that I believe have contributed to the depression I have. I have always been a person who struggled with self-esteem and anxiety, even when I was quite young. I’ve always been bad at taking things to heart. The negative things. If people say something bad about me, I’ll believe it in a heartbeat. If I’m told something good about myself, I am so hesitant to believe it. And that is something that I am very much trying to work on in my personal life.

When he wrote that depression is a liar, I knew what he meant. It takes everything that has hurt you and keeps playing them in your mind over and over again. You constantly dwell on it. And eventually that is all you can think about sometimes. The bad things become magnified. They are the loudest and most convincing thoughts. The good things shrink away into the background. They are so hard to see. So hard to think about.

Eventually, that is when depression wins.

I used to self-harm. Not very much. Just enough to feel it and still have the ability to keep it hidden. Because I didn’t really want people to see. It was my pain that I had to keep to myself. My pain to feel and mine alone. I never told anyone about how I felt aside from a few friends online. Nobody that could get help for me. I was scared about what they would think. I was young. Very insecure. Very impressionable. There were many times I was so close to letting depression win. To giving up.

But I didn’t.

It wasn’t much. But some small part of me didn’t want to give up. “Keep going,” I told myself. “Just a little bit longer.”

So I did. I kept going. And it was the best choice I ever made.

A few years later, my depression is still here. Some days are much worse than others. But life is good. In a few months, I’m marrying the most wonderful person. I have a published book. And hopefully there will be another one before too long. 
It doesn’t get better easily. I know that. But just tell yourself over and over again that depression is a liar. Try to get the help you need. Someone will listen.

Depression is a liar.

That is what you need to remember

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