Don't
tell me depression is not an illness. Because I sought treatment. I am now
well, without it, I may not have been here to tell you that.
Don't
tell me that everybody has dark days. I still do, doesn't everybody? I do what
I can, what everybody can on those days.
I take a
shower, a walk. I put on a pretty dress, I get a spray tan and I remind myself
to be kinder to me.
I feel
sorry for myself shamelessly all over twitter.
I play my
favourite music, I dance, and I hang the finger at inspirational quotes on
Facebook then post my own aggressive blunt card.
I call a
friend.
I vent
until I'm exhausted and can't be bothered listening to their turn and I know
they don't mind.
I know
I'm lucky, I have supportive relationships, with very understanding friends and
family whom still love me, and understand my moods without me having to say
anything.
I have
much to be grateful for.
I go for
a run, in the sunshine and pick a flower. I pull funny faces to make small
children laugh on school buses, smile at babies in shopping trolleys and pat
the dogs I pass.
I get on
with it.
I stuff
myself with cake dipped in KFC on a stick with a side of melted mars bars.
For
dipping.
I have a
fucking bath with scented fucking candles and soak in it while I find my faith.
I get a
good night’s sleep, and before I know
it... tomorrow is another day and most likely the sun will be shining.
I know.
PLEASE
don't say it, don't remind me to do these things.
I DO
these things at the mere hint of a dark day, I do this as soon as I hear the
faint jingle of the black dogs collar, and the noise still makes me anxious but
you wouldn't know that I hear him coming or that the sounds is like a
terrifying familiar friend.
So I do all of these already, almost
compulsively, and I wear them like armour, Because I remember when the part of
me capable of getting the desired result from such exercises screamed at me
from somewhere, while I cried for her.
I was in
there somewhere, and I remember. That's mostly what I remember.
The next
thing I remember wasn’t any of these solutions.
I
remember not being alone next.
I
remember someone took the time to see I needed help. To help me, help me.
Like a
big long ladder had been lowered and I could hear the ladder getting lower. It
took a while to reach me, but I knew it was coming.
I
remember the day that someone who had climbed the ladder before me shared their
story, and it could have been mine and I knew there was an end, it helped me
climb faster.
Eventually
the noise of climbing the ladder drowned out the growl of the black dog and I
kept going.
I now
celebrate that I’ve made it far enough away to
look back.
I'm at
the top of the ladder, and I'm telling my story in case there is anyone else
still down there.
It might
help someone climb faster.
But
please don't say depression is not an illness, you might make it harder for me
to be heard.
Emma xx
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