And right now, I am worried that I may be the strong friend that needs to be checked on...
Aside from being a poet and "sharing" my life that way, I am not exactly one to post publicly about what is going on privately. No matter how much I want to. I may touch on it vaguely with a blog post here and there, but to completely come out and say something, that, I will not do. However, it is because of recent private events that I am even writing this post today.
I am not certain, but I want to believe that I have touched on my battle with the depression in the past. If I have not done so, I will briefly do so right now.
In 2015, my doctor diagnosed me with depression. For a few years, I was on an antidepressant until I started having strange side effects. After getting off of the medication, I learned to manage my depression and I have been doing fairly well in the 10 years since my diagnosis. It also helps that I have a solid support system and that, when I feel that I need to, I see a therapist. Now, here is the thing... It takes a hell of a lot for me to reach out. To anyone. Ever. I have a tendency to bottle everything up inside because I do not like to seem "weak". Even though I cry for everything, from movies to songs to seeing a newborn baby, it is absolutely taboo to me, for me, to cry when something hurts.
"To feel is to fail" is something that I began telling myself some years back.
Even though society has conditioned a lot of us to believe that to cry is to show weakness, growing up, it wasn't exactly taught that I had to be strong; I simply observed my mother never really breaking down. Like, it is almost a rare occurrence to see her cry; one that causes me to go into full on panic mode when I see it happening. She carried the weight of her pains on her shoulders while being the best parent that she could be. Soon shouldering the responsibility of raising three children on her own, I suppose she believed that she did not have time to cry when there were tears of her children that she had to wipe up. Crazy how history repeats itself because I understand that "struggle" more than I probably should...
Anyway...
Multiple times, in the last year, I found myself on the precipice of darkness. Not because of the sadness of the situations, but because I refused to allow myself the grace to embrace the emotions that came with each of them to where the weight of the sadness began to pull me down. Did that make any sense at all? I have wanted to cry, even started to cry a couple of times, but then, I feel guilty for doing so. In the middle of a "breakdown" (as I have started to call them), I swallow back whatever cries I have left, wipe away my tears, put on a brave face, and go about the rest of my day because "I do not have time for that shit."
That is what I used to be able to do anyway...
The recent passing of the family pet seems to be the straw that is breaking the camel's back because my brave face is crooked and those around me are starting to take notice. I do not like that. At all. I am okay, though. At least that is what I keep telling them...
The darkness is coming; I can feel it...
One misplaced brick is going to cause the whole building to collapse and when that happens, how much of me will be able to rise out of the rubble..?
(**Please note, that I am NOT suicidal and this is NOT a cry for help.**)
