My depressive history is well documented by those who’ve known me for more than five minutes. It’s not something I’m ashamed of – mental illness is a disease after all, and depression has to do with chemicals in the brain being released and keeping a person in a state to which they wouldn’t necessarily have a reason to be part of.
I certainly have felt the opression of depression for myself – at times of great happiness when absolutely nothing should have kept me down. It is a natural fact of my life that at certain times I will need to be medicated for my own good and that of those around me. I don’t like it, but I am accepting of it and have reached a point in my life where I can even discuss it without feeling like a piece of scum.
All of this being said, there is a definite difference between depression (in the clinical sense) and sadness. Sadness obviously can be a part of clinical depression, but sadness on its own is not indicative of anything other than itself.
Every September, my life begins its descent into sadness. Memory overwhelms me at this time of year, and with the days getting shorter and colder and everything around me dying, the combination is often too much to bear.
Tomorrow is the ten year anniversary of a day that changed my life forever. A day that I’d give anything to forget – and which others have URGED me to forget – but which continues to plague me and dominate my thoughts leading into the autumn.
It’s strange this year. I always wondered how I’d feel ten years after the fact. And twenty and thirty. It was hard enough to get through the days that followed, let alone the weeks, months and years. I feel as if I should let it go. Blow my thoughts and fears into a black balloon and let it drift away into the wind…
But it’s still here with me.
This year, it feels harder than ever… I guess because the last few months have been so magical and happy and I maybe have farther to fall than before…
But is it simply a self fulfilling prophesy? I know it’s coming, so I let myself fall down into the pit? First it’s September, when the worst thing happened. Then October with the boy who should still be here. Then November when so many things went wrong over so many years. And December which was always bleak. And January where the guilt eats at me… And then I get to start again. From February to August, I can forget and build up… a little higher each year.
This February we’ll have the greatest gift of all – though my heart catches in my throat when I think about all that could go wrong. I try to have hope. I try to expect the best and not just pray for it. I want to feel like I deserve the peace that I so desperately seek.
And Bob Seger flows through my mind…………………