Dear Depression, We Need to Figure Out How to Be Friends
Look, I know you aren’t going anywhere. You have been with me since I was 8. Through therapy and countless medications you remain steadfastly at my side. What if we call a truce? I will acknowledge you are here, and you can live with me. (I’ll even let you raise a ruckus once in a while for old time’s sake.) It will be a partnership of sorts.
See, we need to be friends. Let’s stop the power struggle, and share my life. I know you better than anyone. I know all about you and your ways. I know how you sneak up on me by draining my motivation to do the simple things. I know you are coming when I walk past that unwashed sink of dishes yet again, and I see you in the corners at night when my children are asleep and I am berating myself for my terrible parenting skills. I recognize you in my lack of confidence and my short temper with my husband. You are real, you are here, and I know it, so let’s get down to a making a deal.
You can be a diva, and try to make demands on time and attention. I’ll go about doing my job and trying to make my role meaningful. I won’t expect you to vacate your position, and I will learn to work with you, but not for you. There will be times you overshadow me, but my work is just as important as yours, and I will be here day after day continuing to make progress, even as you bask in your own glory.
So, depression, you are let out into the sunshine. I will deny your place no more. I will appreciate what you have done for me, and learn to work with your bossy personality. I might even learn something from you.
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