Hitting (OK… Already Hit) Another Rough Patch

Today I can admit it. Yesterday I was still in denial. But the tears started falling and I'm going to get through it. As I have many times in the past two years. And I do believe the last few sentences - most of the time. But I have a rant. Sorry - not sorry.

Comparison is killing me. Friends and family say it to try and help, and have no idea how much it hurts. “My other friend has it so much worse.” “At least you don’t have…” “Your health isn’t as severe as….” And those are the ones spoken out loud. And it only serves to assist in my judging myself even more harshly than I already do.  I know that I am my own worst enemy and I need support that doesn’t invalidate or negate the thoughts going through my head.

High functioning depression is painful. We can get out of bed. We can go to work. We can even smile here and there and sometimes we are not even faking it. This doesn’t mean that we are “better” than people who have other forms of depression. Most of the time it only means that people don’t realize what we are going through internally - often until it is too late.  Not to be morbid, but think of all the stories you have heard of high functioning high school students, celebrities and others who have taken their lives and left those around them in shock. This should not be happening. We need to recognize the severity and validate the feelings of people - people like me.

That is not to say I want people agreeing with me and telling me that my mental wellness is never going to get better, is a lost cause or too hard to overcome (thoughts I think constantly). So what do I want?

Friends, family and a support system with patience, understanding (which is a tall order since I don’t even understand it), and void of comparison. I am in my own battle. Whether someone’s war is an obvious, loud battle or more of a guerilla warfare (full of ambushes and sabotages as mine is) there is no one that can say who's is worse. I am trying to learn to own my mental wellness/illness/whatever the f*** you want to call it. To me it is torture.

The dialectic of I know this is excruciating AND I am here (for as long as you need) to listen, empathize, hold your hand, hug you, sit in silence, talk, hand you tissues as the tears fall down your face and not judge is not an easy one. Suggestions about my medications, my therapies, my self-care routine and more are done with great intentions, but at this point do nothing but frustrate me. I have a team of professionals who are working with me and we are trying - oh god how we are trying. And feeling like others are second guessing my choices makes my thoughts go reeling. I know people want to help - I get it - when I see someone in distress that’s my first thought. Unfortunately in some cases just being there is all the help you can offer - and fortunately that is often enough. Reach out. Make me not feel like a burden. Call or text if you don’t hear back from me. Invite me out for the 17th time even if I keep flaking. Love me a little louder. And keep doing that. For as long as it takes. Which as I keep reiterating - seems to be much longer than any of us planned.

Rant over. Grateful to the people who are continuing on this convoluted, literally mind-boggling path with me.