When I Cried for 30 Days

A few months ago, I started to cry and I couldn’t stop.

I had a lot of commitments, too, and I couldn’t stop those either. I’m a journalist, a writer, a social media consultant, an entrepreneur, a mother, a daughter, a big sister, a mentor, and a friend. Like always, I had people counting on me. I had responsibilities. I things I had to do.

So like I always do when my depression hits, I kept going, trying to push through the pain I felt every single day.

I sent emails, interviewed dignitaries, and wrote stories. I managed websites, went to editorial meetings, and planned content strategies. And then I cried…for 30 days.

I Facebooked, and tweeted, and went ham on Instagram. I made social media plans and beefed up LinkedIn strategies. I posted and shared, then posted and shared. And then I cried…for 30 days.

I packed lunches, read bedtime stories, and tucked my baby into bed. I went to PTA meetings and signed up for committees and brought treats for the class. And then I cried…for 30 days.

I went to dinners, joked with friends, and avoided the man I loved. I hugged my mom and had beers with my dad. I cheered from the stands for baby brother on the field. And then I cried…for 30 days.

I went to church, and Sunday school, and late-night bible studies. I read my bible, studies scriptures, and called into some prayer lines. I praised the Lord and prayed on my knees, but still, yes, still, I cried…for 30 days.

I was so busy — so busy crying and being depressed — that I just couldn’t go get the help that I needed. I couldn’t get to the doctor for a new prescription (one that I hadn’t needed in years), I couldn’t get to the therapist for a talk (one that I hadn’t seen in over a year). And when I finally wasn’t at working or tweeting or making lunches or going to PTA meetings or walking around and pretending it was all okay, I was somewhere hiding, crying uncontrollably before drying my eyes and wiping my face off to go back out into the world and do it all over again.

I was busy, way too busy to fix myself, and I didn’t have the strength to pull myself out of the valley. I wallowed in it.

I have high functioning depression, and when it hits, this is exactly what it looks like.