What Depression Tells Me

It’s a pain that is mental and physical all at once. It feels hard to move. My body aches as if I am sick, well, because I am sick. Mental illness is just that: an illness. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t real. Trust me, it is very real.

Depression has been my companion since as far back as I can remember. It haunts me with memories of pain and heartache, grief, and betrayal. Memories I want so badly to let go of.

Depression plays in my mind on an endless loop, like the song from that old Six Flags commercial, the one with the old man dancing. I want so badly to get that song out of my head, but no matter how hard I try, the song keeps on playing, and the old man keeps on dancing. Faces that once caused me pain continue to torment me years later.

Depression is a hard place to leave even though I desperately want to. It manipulates me. It whispers lies disguised as truths.

Depression tells me I am worthless. Depression tells me I can’t get out of bed. Depression tells me I am broken. Depression tells me no one will miss me if I’m dead. Depression tells me it’s too much, stop fighting and do the thing that will take away the pain.

Depression wants me to give in and let myself drown; let myself walk into traffic; let myself take one too many pills. It would be so easy to give in. The pain will finally stop. It won’t be so hard anymore. That’s what depression tells me.

And when I’m just about ready to give in, to listen to depression, my life pulls me back. My life is a good one. My family and friends are loving and supportive. I have a husband and dog who love me. I have a job where I am valued and that offers me purpose. I have mental health support from professionals. My future is full of hope.

And so right now I won’t listen to depression. I will keep on living, and see what tomorrow holds. Depression is still there in the shadows of my mind, but right now I am in control.