I debated on posting this blog. Not because I’m ashamed – I’m one of the most open, honest people you’ll ever meet, but because it’s just hard. But lately, some very brave writer friends of mine have come out admitting they suffer from depression and as I’m going through another bout myself, I thought it was fitting I come clean too. I think many creative people suffer more – perhaps because we feel things more deeply – or maybe we’re just more in tune to FEELINGS since that’s what we write about all day. I don’t know. But for as long as I can remember, I know I’ve felt off. And let’s face it, I didn’t grow up in an era where everyone went to psychiatrists/psychologists or admitted to taking medication. That said, I’m very lucky, in that I grew up in a very functional household where were encouraged to talk about what was bothering us. Which helped. A lot. Then, when I was in my junior year of college, I contracted asceptic meningitis (not the deadly kind thank God) and within that time period, my doctor picked up on my off emotions. This led to therapy and my first try with medication. Which I advocate very highly if needed, because I don’t believe anyone should suffer when they can be helped. That said, please don’t use this blog as a place to argue about the negative effects of medication. I just wanted to say, I believe it’s something that works.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t ALWAYS work and it doesn’t always CONTINUE to work. Which brings me to where I am now. Trying to regulate and get it right. In the meantime, it’s not fun or pleasant. Last week I had a cold and spent the week in bed. You can read between the lines. This week I’m not really working yet. One thing my doctor did mention is SADD (seasonal disorder) and that’s possible. I mean, if I don’t see some sunshine soon, I may just lose my mind. But since I’ve always had this in one form or another, I’m sure that’s not all it is.
What it is, is me. I’ve come to accept it even as I hate it. But too many things are kept in the closet and private, people feeling like there is something wrong with them if they admit they need help. There’s no shame in needing help, therapy, medication or anything similar. It just is. Like a cold is. Like a heart attack is.
So this is my … it is what it is right now. And for some reason, I decided to admit the truth.