My friend and fellow writer, V-Grrrl, wrote a compelling post about her dealings with depression and the healing and supportive effects of social media. I invite you to read her story.
In response, I penned the comments below:
I first wanted to die at age 7. Prayed every night that I’d not awaken in the morning. For the longest time, I blamed my inner turmoil on a wildly tumultuous family life laden with violence and abuse and tears.
Through my thirties, the “dark debilitator” and I never parted company. I read scores of self-help books, ate right, got plenty of sleep, avoided alcohol, sought counseling, never toyed with drugs and practiced every holistic recommendation.
Still, He dogged me.
Despite the fact that, once an adult, I enjoyed every blessing and achieved every goal, I fell into the abyss on a regular basis. Climbing out was a monumental feat that nearly broke me time and again.
When the first of two of my children became chronically ill, I finally told the doctor the dirty details of my thirty-year battle with the beast. Her response? “This is a biological illness. All you’ve done has helped, but only medication will set your chemistry right.”
Enter the vanquisher- a prescription antidepressant. Over the last ten years I weaned myself off of it several times, thinking I could manage on my own. Finally, I accept it as my saving grace. On it, I AM me. Without it, He wins. Fuck that.
If it ever stops working, I’ll get myself to the doctor and find a new weapon. I love being me. I’ll never again willingly give up myself.
If you think you might suffer with depression, make an appointment with your doctor. Seek help. Feel better.
* "Black Dog" is a colloquial term for depression.
