My Story

I started writing this blog post last Sunday September 30th, and I finally finished it today.  Instead of changing my first few sentences to mesh with finally posting it today, I am going to leave it in it's original form.  here it is.

 I've debated for a really long time about starting this blog.  For months the thought has been in the back of my mind, and I've kept asking myself, "should I really do it?"  After my experience today, though, (Sunday September 30th) I've decided, (and felt) that it is time to share a part of myself that I don't share with many.  This part of me is something that for a long time, and still some days, I terribly hate.  It's a part of me that slows me down, causes me to feel things that I hate feeling, and think things that I hate thinking.  This part of me is the part that often finds itself silently crying for relief, for a breath of fresh air when emotionally I feel 100 feet under water.  This part me is the part that battles almost daily with two of the ugliest monsters I have ever met in my life, and those monsters are depression and anxiety.

Today (last Sunday) while I was attending church I felt a great overwhelming prompting to share part of my experience with my Sunday School class.  I hesitated this prompting for a long time, but with time left to spare at the end of my teaching and at a lost for words, I knew it was time to share what I wanted to keep hidden.  So with a step of faith, I began to speak.  The story came out, I cried, others in the room cried, and at the end I almost felt ashamed and foolish for exposing such a tender and weak part of myself.  But as the class was dismissed, and people came up to me to give me hugs and to thank me for what I shared, I began realizing again something I already knew but hadn't fully acknowledged.  I'm not alone in this battle.  One man came up to me to thank me for being so open about my struggles, because there are so many who go through similar things, but are scared to admit it.  There are so many who experience the pain I feel from my depression/anxiety but who have never shared that pain with others.  So I guess my hope is that through this blog, people out there who are struggling like me will be able to find support, and maybe even some relief.  I don't know what I'll post on here, I don't exactly know where this blog is going to go, but I know it needs to be done, and so I will do it.  So here it is, my personal self, my story of living in darkness.

So for this beginning post, lets simply discuss what is depression.  Depression is an interesting thing, because the answer to what it is depends on who you ask.  Some will argue that it is a completely self inflicted illness, and that people are depressed because they make themselves that way.  Others will say it is a chemical imbalance in the brain, and yet others will say it is a result from childhood trauma.  Some will say that medication is the only way to help, others will say that counseling is the only thing, while yet others will say it is just a personal decision we make.  Want to the know the true answer though?  We. Don't. Know.  Studies have been done that support all of the above theories, (except the it's a personal decision one, nothing really supports that but personal thought that I can find) but even though there are studies to support all of them, none of them have been conclusive enough to prove for sure that we know and understand depression.  Want to know what we do know though?  It exists, and it is extremely terrifying.  I know this, because it is a part of me.

Depression is a monster.  It lurks in the back of your mind always, and the worst part is you know you have it, and you can't stop it.  Days, weeks, months, and even years just come that are hard, that you can barely get through, and have no desire to endure.  It creates within you (or at least it does in me) the inability to feel anything.  An example would be that I always KNOW my husband loves me, but there are many days when I don't FEEL it, because I have the inability to feel anything.  Things that should bring me joy don't, being with my son is a chore, even when he is in a good mood and being really goofy.  Sometimes I completely lose my appetite, other days I over indulge so much in everything I can get my hands on that I make myself sick.  I know I shouldn't do this but I do, and that is where the real battle is for me.  I don't want to eat, but I make myself anyways.  I don't want to get out of bed, but I do anyways.  In doing the small things of life I battle back my monster and show him that I will function in his presence, even if that functioning involves anxiety attacks and pure hatred for myself and my feelings towards life.  It's hard, and I hate it, but it is my reality, my life, and I have to do what I can with it.

I already think I know a bit better now where I'm going to take this blog, but for tonight I am going to sign off to avoid the over-extensive-long-blog post that no one finishes reading due to it's length.  But I will end by asking that if you often feel this way, or similar to this way at times in your life, please know that you are not alone.  There are many out there who suffer as we do, and together we can get through those rough days, weeks, months, and even years.  Feel free to pass this blog along to those whom you think may need it. 

Be strong, for we can do hard things.

Lacey Miller