There...I said it.
Funny, I don't feel any better now that I've confessed it...
I've struggled with depression since age 18 or so. Some who know me, might say even earlier than that. I really don't know and really don't care anymore. Years surviving depression are not celebrated like sobriety years where you get a medallion and get to hear the whoops, hollars, and claps of your fellow sober-mates. No... It is nothing like that. It sucks!
So here I am again! Pissed off at myself. I thought that I had found the magic Depression Bullet when I got sober. I actually thought that this would never, ever, ever, ever happen again if I quit drinking. I was wrong.
Why is it that for a fellow sufferer I have compassion and empathy? Tell them to care for themselves, be gentle, be kind....after all, Depression is a disease, right? They didn't choose this. Why would anyone CHOOSE this?
However when it comes to my own self-analysis I reject this. My thoughts accuse me, "If I'd only be kinder to others, loose a few pounds, exercise, read my Bible consistently, quit eating sugar, quit eating corn, quit eating wheat, quit consuming aspartame, practice meditation, be more disciplined, stop swearing, volunteer, appreciate my husband..." then this problem will disappear...*poof*
Why is it that when it comes to my personal experience with Depression I see it as a character flaw, a spiritual malady, an excuse to indulge in self-pitious, ruminating thoughts?
Yup that's a loaded question, isn't it? I'm ripping up the recipe card and starting over (again)...
Thanks friends for listening,