One of the worst things about depression is that it makes you mistrustful. If I hate me, why would anyone else love me? I'm not worthy of love, so why would anyone even say that they love me? Clearly they are lying.
Clearly no one can be trusted.
It's difficult when you realize that the person you can trust least is actually yourself.
I have asthma, so I understand that some conditions are triggered. Cold temperatures knock my lungs out of commission. Some allergens make me cough and wheeze.
It makes sense to me, then, that there would be things that set off the chemical reaction in my brain that causes me to have a depressive episode. I understand that. I also know that I know some, but not all, of those triggers.
It doesn't make it easier. There's no rescue inhaler for your brain.
I've been having a difficult time and not wanting to talk about it. But when I found myself having dinner with The Fella and literally sobbing into my french fries I decided it was time.
It was time because I'm not the only one who struggles like this.
It was time because I'm hurting him too.
It is time because life is a cliff and we all need to know that there are handholds to keep us from falling. Those handholds are there. They exist. And if you cannot reach one someone will happily help you but sometimes you have to ask.
I know that I am worthy of love. I know that the people who love me aren't lying about it. I know they want me here.
I also know that I am worthy of help. That I can reach out and there will be hands for me to hold onto. I know that I have to grip them, hard, and pull myself along.
If you've ever been there, or are there now, those handholds are there for you, too. My hand is here.
We're all going to get through it. I promise.