Depression - (repost from FB)

Yesterday, for the first time in what feels like forever, I laughed a genuine happy/funny laugh. A big one. There have been small ones here and there, but they were always the empty ones. It feels like I’m standing behind a glass wall and I can’t reach out to everything and everyone on the other side. I can watch and they can see me react but nothing real gets through.

But yesterday, while resting on my chair, and having a bit of a cry with Stephen, as we often do to “let the weakness out”, I had a painful spasm but Steve didn’t notice and randomly started jiggling my thigh with his hand. I looked at him, perplexed and he in turn was confused at my reaction.

“What? You don’t like me jiggling your thigh? Haha!”

“I was having a spasm!!!”

“Oh.. did the jiggling help?”

It was so absurd that we both started laughing through the tears. It felt so good. I want more laughter. I want to laugh all the way to my fucking grave. With both middle fingers up, flipping off death and depression. I want to be able to say, “you can take my body but you’ll never have my soul”.

Or something to that effect.

Today marks day 1 of my official fight against depression. I have my first ever psychologist appointment and I hope she’s good. I’ve battled depression my whole life but I’ve usually overcome bad bouts with the aid of music, art, and grace of god/spirituality.

But I’ve never had it as bad as this. In the last 10 years, my mental health has slowly spiralled to the point that anxiety kept me from leaving the house and OCD was so bad that my hands were raw from always cleaning/disinfecting. Before I flew home, I had my first panic attack. Suicidal thoughts were so prevalent that I actually started planning them out. Logically, I was extremely worried for myself. I figured, it’s ok, I’m flying home to find out what’s wrong with me... I’ll get a mental health plan with a GP sorted too.

Then I couldn’t eat, drink or even swallow saliva. And we found out I had cancer. It compounded the depression but still, mental health took a backseat as we focused on the physical aspect first.

But it’s reached a point that I have said, no. No more. I need help NOW. I need my mental state to be strong if I’m going to LIVE ... really live... through this nightmare.

And yet, even though I’ve always been an advocate against the stigma on mental health... I’m still struggling with myself thinking “it’s not that bad, you don’t need that kind of help” and other stupid thoughts.

I have to accept that sometimes, our brains just aren’t made right. Some people are just always sad. And that’s ok. We can get help for it. We can pray and still ask for more help. It’s ok. It’s ok. It’s ok. It’s normal. It’s fine. It’s acceptable. Nobody is judging you. If they do, fuck them. If it helps you cope, isn’t it all worth it? Yes. Yes. Yes. It’s ok. You’re ok. You’ll be ok. You’ll smile again. You’ll laugh again. You’ll live up to your name again. You’ll break through that glass wall. Smash that bitch up.

Then we’ll be in a much better place to deal with this motherfucking cancer and all the shit that comes with it.