Depression?

Sometimes I am the sunniest person in the room. Sometimes I am the darkest cloud.

Anyone else out there have bad days? Raise your hand. Everyone? I thought so.

Anyone have those days when you wake up feeling like you've already lost? That getting up at all is useless? Maybe not everyone, but I bet it's a lot more of us than we may think.

The way I experience depression confuses me, as it doesn't always manifest in the ways I imagine it would. It isn't usually something I wake up with, it usually develops at some point in my day. Typically I will be bopping along, work, exercise, play, whatever, and then something small (that normally would be fine) will go awry that will make something snap inside of me. A friend cancels plans, I make a mistake at work, someone gives me some marginally bad news, and just poof! I will become enveloped in an overwhelming state of sadness. I often compare it to pulling the plug on a bathtub drain, where all the warm and cozy feelings drain out and you are left chilled and empty. You are overcome with  both a rushing of emotions and a numbness that is like a fog clouding your rationality.

Usually, I won't stop crying on and off for hours, no matter where I am. Nothing anyone says really helps. Hugs are nice, but not a solution. Sometimes I reach out, but usually I just want to be home, alone. If I have plans, I try to cancel them. It feels like I can't do much of anything. I feel both heavy and empty. Strange, isn't it, that emptiness, which is physically weightless, can be the thing that makes us feel emotionally weighted down? Sometimes it lasts a few hours, sometimes a few days. It is a helpless feeling, and it scares me because in those moments, or hours, I don't know what to do to make it better. I feel out of control, in a spiralling sort of way.

I feel like this must be challenging for my partner, who does not seem to experience depression. I didn't always have these types of episodes. I think it developed in the past few years, if that makes sense, so I remember what life was like before they challenged me, which was before we were together. I feel like I have sprung this on him unfairly, like he is getting something he didn't sign up for . I find it really tough to let him down, when he does so much for me, for us. I feel like it makes me less of a partner, that I am taking too much and not giving enough. He has never made me feel ashamed, he is always supportive. He is my comfort and my home, my best friend. It's hard to look your partner in the eyes when you are at your worst, when they are the person that most makes you want to be your best. And depression isn't something they can just lift off your shoulders easily, no matter how much they want to. It's something you have to work through, and sometimes just letting me veg on the couch and lose myself in mindless Netflix re-runs is all I want him to do.

Maybe this isn't even what society has defined as depression, but it is what it means to me, it is my reality. One thing I stand strongly for is taking personal responsibility for your actions and your own reality, so admitting that sometimes I feel helpless is big for me. It is usually followed by a slew of negative thoughts, like "You're not strong enough. Why can't you just snap out of it?", which really isn't helpful or healing. It's sort of like that dream you have when you are trying really hard to run away from danger, but your legs just won't work, and you keep slipping and fear is gripping you, but you can't will your body to move.

I still am not sure what to do on these days. Should I be trying to journal, even though I don't have the motivation to, so that I can try and understand it better? Should I be stiffening my upper lip and soldiering on? Should I reach out or ask to be alone? Or should I just let myself be in the moment and feel what I feel and relax? It's probably a combo of everything as it's not always the same. Each time, I try to be a little more conscious of my emotions, and my triggers, and hopefully I will learn if not to stop the episodes, at least to handle them.

I'm lucky that this is a rare occurrence in my life. My days are generally pretty happy and bright. But it's knowing that it's in there that scares me. Like it's something lurking, waiting to reach out a slimy tentacle and pull me under. That's why I'm talking about it. Maybe if I talk about it, it will be less frightening. Like shining a flashlight under your bed to discover the monsters are just mothballs. Or at least that they're not as big as you thought. And because it's important that I do my part to remove the stigma around mental health. The more we talk about it, the more comfortable we will be with dealing with it, with asking for help, and knowing it's ok to admit when we're not ok. We all struggle differently, and collectively is how we are going to heal.