Diary of A Depressed Girl
I am grateful for my depression because it has allowed me to investigate my pain, face the darkest parts of myself, and have the ability to empathize with other people’s sadness.
I’m yoga teacher. In a wellness world where pharmaceutical medication is frowned up, I will be straight up and tell you I’m on low dose of antidepressants. I’m in a good place right now. For the past year and a half I’ve worked relentlessly on a vigilant self care program that includes: breathing exercises, meditation, yoga, supplements, thought reframing, deleting toxic people, letting go of alcohol and drugs, letting go of perfectionism. The list could go on forever.
My mental framework has not always been so stable. The following is a diary passage from last year.
“I hate to feel powerless over this feeling, these feelings, the dark side of me that is the familiar friend who I shouldn’t be with.
How can I love myself and embrace this dark part of myself as much as I do the light parts? How am I able to love the part of me that sits on the couch, feet resting on the coffee table, rounded spine with hands each holding a clump of hair?
I grab fist fulls and make them tight enough to feel the scalp skin. It’s not painful, but it’s enough to feel something. Something physical that only grazes the surface of the sadness I feel internally. How am I supposed to love this part of myself too? Because I don’t. Most of the time I do. But right now I don’t.
Things would be better if I were dead. People would be happier if I didn’t burden them. My relationship would be better. Henry would be better. He should be with someone more stable and mentally sound like him. As the Ativan sets in I feel more and more numb. How am I supposed to embrace my emotions when I can’t control them?
I can’t teach more than 10 yoga classes a week. It’s not mentally healthy for me. I taught 11 last week, and I have to teach 4 more before I get a day off. I’m SPENT.
A part of me feels like I have a responsibility to the world, to give a voice to those like me who suffer in fetal positions, with no will to live, and who hate the demon inside their own minds that they’re supposed to embrace.
I’m grateful to myself for taking the Ativan because if I let my feelings overrun me I might have grabbed something to start etching up my arm.”