Samuel Witchbridge
Jul 10, 2017 · 2 min read
Photo by Author

My Declaration of Independence from pretending to be “OK”

When does my sphere stop contracting? When do I stop moving in smaller and smaller circles, missing the things I used to love to do? When can I enjoy my friends again?

When does it stop? The obfuscation, lying, hiding, self-medicating with pills or alcohol.

When will the depression finally let go?

Doesn’t always feel that way, but when the pit comes to claim you for an hour or two (or more), there are no answers.

And that seems to be the biggest question when you’re in the pit: “Why does it hurt to be alive?”

Every memory from the past triggers sadness; if it’s a good memory, it reminds you of good times long gone, friends who have died, loved-ones no longer there, missed opportunities, bad decisions, failed relationships.

If it’s a bad memory — we’ll that’s easy, it’s a bad memory.

So all remembrance of things past becomes painful. Every little thing your eye falls upon lights the fuse to another little firecracker of depression.

“Why can’t you just enjoy your life?”

“Why can’t you just shake it off?”

We all know these are trite questions to depression that no one should use, or expect answers for.

And yet…

They are the unspoken thought behind the eyes of all that learn your dirty little secret: your mind is broken; you don’t know what happened to the happiness, it just went away.

And then the pit makes a visit every now and then to make you ask the one question you can’t seem to answer: “Why does it hurt to be alive?”

Still, you put on the happy face and persevere — wouldn’t want to be a downer to friends, family and co-workers.

Medical professionals attempt differing angles of attack, some work, at first, sometimes. Some make it worse. Some don’t do anything but upset your stomach and cost more money.

Oh yeah, note to all the doctors, psychiatrists and therapists out there: when you ask us if we have had suicidal thoughts, WE LIE. We say no. But when the pit comes to call and the main question comes out…

So, there it is. The first declaration of my membership in the club.

It’s a large club, and I’ll tell you what; we are tough mothers.

Everyday we get up and go into your “normal” world and deal with it when we are breaking inside. Sometimes we can’t, so we become very artistic and creative with the excuse as to why we can’t come to work, party, meeting, whatever.

We are tough mothers, we are creative, we are resourceful, and we have perseverance.

And we have each other.

If this sounds like you, welcome to the club.

You are not alone.

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