I'm not a poster child, er, woman, for depression.
No, no, no. I’m not who you think I am.
I’m the one you call cheerful. I probably laughed really hard at a joke you made yesterday.
And I’m not lazy either. I hold down a good job. I earn a solid income. Really solid. And my employer seems to think I’m a catch. Okay, fine, the only reason I’m holding down the job is that it is super-flexible and it can sustain the waves of my depression. And okay, fine, I probably don’t even deserve my respectable salary (and that probably just about hits upon the crux of my very deep issues), but that’s the story.
But here’s the secret. You see me when I am able to emerge at the other side of the door. You see me when I am en route to work. You see me when I’m made up and dressed and have the energy to smile.
But when I’m doing the depression thing, I make sure to remain unseen. The very depression takes care of that. Every inch is a struggle. Every action an insurmountable task. Greeting a person? Unthinkable.
Oh, and you see me on a nice little dose of SSRI. Yup, I even take that.
And I know that many of these come into play for you too. You’re struggling so silently. You feel no one in the world can understand this dead-heavy struggle. This feeling of having weights attached to each finger, each toe. This hole that has a magnetic pull that feels like it will never let go of you.
But, psst… there are some who understand you, and let's be there for each other.