Depression. Such a simple word on a disease that effects millions of people around the globe each day. Stigmatism. The foundation of which such a simple word that has been created unknowingly by generations of those who have lived on this planet. Like many others, I’ve had this disease all of my life. Stemming from the young age of 5 years old from which I can remember. When you are a child with overwhelming bouts of sadness, you just figure that it is normal. It’s life. You don’t know any better. Surely everyone lives like this. Of course you have your moments of laughter, love, new friendships that can bloom seemingly out of nowhere. You have moments where an occasional thought or feeling brings uncomfortable sadness in your tummy, heart and mind. But what do you do when the “sad thoughts” become longer. Grow even bigger then two small hands can hold. Sinks heavier to where all you can do is carry a backpack of rocks with you all the time and being able to put it down anywhere becomes a chore that gets harder and harder to do.

You begin to live with it. That is…

Until, you no longer want to live.

Living then becomes a chore. A task. A marathon in which you can no longer run that extra mile, because you know if you do run that extra mile, you will just have to keep going on to run ANOTHER extra mile. So it then becomes arduous task. Mundane. Tiring…..

Hope? There is no hope. You want to believe there is a shimmer of it somewhere deep inside of your soul. You long to have a miracle of hope somewhere left inside of you. But, you know better. You know that extra mile won’t reveal hope.

I am one among millions suffering from depression. I will admit. I carried this disease with me like a secret demon that was living inside of me. Afraid that if anyone knew the extent and severity of such overwhelming sadness and hopelessness that I carry, that it would categorize me as a failure and “someone who has a very sick and troubled mind”. Which….I do. My mind is very sick. The stigmatism around depression has told me to lock this illness inside of myself. I was afraid no one would like me. Because lets be honest…….who wants to have such a sad individual in their life. It will only bring them down too. They have enough to worry about.

People try hard to stay away from the pain and grief life can bring. Trying so hard to build admiral qualities in so many different places in which they live. People WANT to be safe. In control. It’s natural. We were created to build a plan, a backup plan in case that one didn’t work out and then an absolute worse case scenario if everything still crumbled and how we would deal with it then. Why would one want to infect themselves being around someone who could possibly interfere with their own happiness?

I try to ask myself, “Would you want to be around yourself if you were someone else?” I’m afraid to answer that question….Would I?

I write in hopes that no one will actually read this. To see the thoughts I think. Feel the feelings that I struggle with each and every day. Because quite honestly, I am ashamed. That’s all I’ve known, is to be ashamed of this disease. I’m scared for others to see how broken my soul is inside of myself. How sick that I am and how sick I’ve become. It effects everyone around me. It follows in my shadows everywhere I walk. In everything that I speak. My aura has melded itself into a thick black cloud that can be felt for miles. And that shames me irrevocably.

I am 32year old female who is bedridden with shame, guilt and overwhelming sadness. I live in a little room under my parents house. My depression has progressed to the point where I can no longer function as an individual. I can’t quite yet open up to the steps on why and how I got here. It just progressed into something that took over my life. This depression overtook me and I let it win. I finally gave in after so many years of “the fight”. I gave in hoping to find release from all the burdens of sadness that I carry. 32 years…. and I just…… gave up. Threw up that little white tattered flag and said, “Fine. Come here already and get me”.

At the present moment, I have difficulty getting out of my bed. I can’t comb or brush my own hair. I can’t shower to wash my hair, so I settle for a small quick bath to lay in for about 10 minutes. Then rush back to lay back in bed, with my heart pounding out of my chest as If I ran a marathon. I can just lie there, counting the heart beats in my chest thinking, This is it. My heart is finally going to give out on me. All from the overexertion of a simple, mundane task as getting out of bed and trying to put water on my body to bathe. I try to keep a jug of water in my room for when I am dehydrated and food has turned into another story and battle that I will share on another day. For now, I decided to try to write in a blog. Write about all the struggles on how such a simple disease can flare and take over ones life. I’m inviting you into this boring and horrifying journey. Of how an illness can effect a persons life and the ones they have/had around them.










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