I’ve been open about my battles with Depression within the safety & confines of my Facebook gang of friends for at least four years — probably closer to five — but Facebook is a lumbering dolt too intertwined within society to ignore, but who still makes it exceptionally difficult to find anything you need unless it’s a link to Candy Crush or something equally as addicting.
Anyway, to both my nearest and dearest as well as my acquaintances, I’ve talked openly about my Depression for the past several years. Much like with this blog, I hoped to put a face on a disease that lingered in mystery for so long; for too long.
I wanted to be the girl next door who dealt with her monsters day-in and day-out, yet was a face you knew — and possibly loved — in the way that friends love one another.
It was scary at first. I mean, who really wants to talk about something that may make you seem damaged; someone to pity and whisper about at their brazen disregard of the status quo?
But with all due credit to a wonderful Therapist who encouraged me to face my demons in full battle armor, I dipped my toe in the water of public opinion and wrote about what generations of people talked about in only hushed tones.
The response I got from my friends and family astonished me. My confession was not only met with messages of love and support, but there were also a handful of people who told me that due to my own bravery they felt less alone in their battle with Depression and mental illness.
As the years went by I would talk every now and then about a particular aspect of Depression that most people wouldn’t even think about: The way that Dysthymia would make you overreact to even the smallest crisis, the way past circumstances affected present happenings, and pieces of my past that I felt ashamed to admit to others. There were several more posts about stuff like that, but Facebook is a bitch, and won’t let me find them to share.*
In a way, I think my persistent Depression kept me from discovering my true self and my path in life. However, once I emerged from the Psych Ward after a complete collapse, it was as if I had breeched the barriers to my hidden soul and found my true purpose in life. With a burning passion never once encountered in my consciousness, I knew that I must risk making a spectacle of myself to help put a face to a disease that has been too hidden for too long.
And that is how I came out of the closet. I mean no offense to those of us who use that term for a different purpose, but like those who come out to the world to display their fantastic colors, I, too, am ready to face the world head on — whether the world likes it or not.
* No offense to Bright, Intelligent, Talented, Charming, Hell of a Women(s)**
** Yes, I know that’s not how you pluralize Woman***
*** I still like asterisks