I should have known.
When I got home from work and put my headphones on. When my friend called and I hit the “reject” button.When I realized I had no words left.
I should have known.
But I didn’t, so it was the next morning, when I wasn’t “sick” but I still had no strength to get out of bed. When I had no spark in me. When I did not care about anything. When I (irrationally) screamed inside my head that I’m a colossal eff-up, just a big mistake. It was then that I recognized my old pall Depression is back for another visit.
I like to think that we live in a world more accepting and understanding about mental illness and mental health, and for the most part we do. People generally are no longer accused of being demon possessed if they are depressed, and we no longer prescribe isolation as treatment for depression. But we’re still not there. Society still tends to view those who openly own up to their depression as “less than,” as just needing to go have some fun. Or you get the other side who thinks you should just pop pills until you’re so medicated you are effectively a zombie (maybe that’s where the zombie apocalypse will come from).
Now don’t get me wrong, meds can be a wonderful tool for dealing with depression, and if that’s what you and your doctor have worked out as the best treatment for you, then I’m glad for you and wish you all the best of luck. But personally, I don’t want to be on meds. For one, I can’t really afford to be on meds. More than that, though, I’m afraid that I’ll lose my creativity. I’m not the most artistic person in the whole world by any means, but I am most certainly creative. I play piano and draw in my free time, and at work I lead projects and do a lot of graphic design. I’m extremely worried that if I go on meds I won’t be able to create anymore.
So for now I cope with depression as best as I can. And I’m grateful to have a boss who may not understand depression, but at least doesn’t give me grief about calling in sick more than I probably should.