To the Depression That Won’t Let Me Break Free

Hey depression,

I don’t like you. In fact, I hate you. I hate the way you make me feel trapped and hopeless.

Acknowledging you in my life, giving you a name, it turned out to be a blessing and a curse. It was comforting to realize there was a reason for all of the ways I had been feeling and thinking. It felt great to know I wasn’t alone and damn great to shift the blame onto you.

It’s an ugly truth that when I accepted you for what you were, you became much stronger. I gave you the opportunity to gather all of the pieces of yourself, my symptoms and pull them together into one big beast of a problem in my life.

You’re deceitful. You make an existence out of misleading me. When I retreat, when I lay alone with you, you try to convince me alone is just what I want. You pat me on my back and tell me I don’t need anyone, that I could just run away and all of my problems would simply vanish. No one would miss me anyways.

You try to deceive me into believing other people, other things are the problem. Sometimes, you even manage to make me wonder if my dear husband is the problem. You tell me if he really loved me and he was really right for me, then he could make me happy in spite of you.

I know in my heart of hearts this isn’t true. I may have even let you win already had he not been here. He is oftentimes my biggest ally in standing up to you. It only makes sense you’d try to lead me away from him. You’ve been a son of an unmentionable in my life for a little too long now. I’ve never been more ready than now to come back swinging.

Hey depression, you may be strong, you may bring me down, but you’ve yet to hold me there long! For every downwards fall, there is a rise up on the other side. Day after day, I pull myself up and out of your grasp. Sometimes, I have help. A lot of the time, actually, I have help. That’s OK.

I’ve accepted for the moment, I can’t fight you all on my own. I feel no shame in coming at you with an army behind me. I want you gone. It’s time you were a memory, another stretch of rugged path that lies behind me.

I’m tired of you taking my life from me. My children will only be children once. I’m tired of you thieving those precious moments from me, clouding them. I refuse to spend my life with you. I want to look into the mirror and see the woman I was before you, instead of an empty shell staring back.

I want to stop sitting idle with you and go make a better life for myself, for my family. I read a quote somewhere recently about not wanting to just live the length of my life but wanting to live the width of it too. That’s what I want. A full and blissful life, without you.

I’ve made mistakes along the way. I’ve stumbled. Many times I’ve wished for a do over. It’s true I’ve seen and experienced tragic things that have left me feeling broken. I know these oppressive memories are a comfy place for you to make a home for us. You’ve convinced me for too long it’s easier to be a victim than a fighter.

It’s time for me to move on, lay the hurts of the past to rest, accept the struggles for what they are, accept the things that happened along the way were not OK and not my fault. I do not have to be defined by the struggles I’ve faced.

I want you to let me free. I won’t stop trying until you do. It’s not going to be an easy fight. It never is. Your hold is very strong, but I have faith in knowing I’m on the right track. Every step forward gives me more of a fighting chance against you.

It’s time to breathe deeper. It’s time to take a little more time to take care of me. It’s time to be a little kinder to myself. It’s time to savor the blessings I have in my life today.

There are so many, oftentimes darkened by your shadow. Healthy, talented, beautiful, shining star children that light up my days, a caring husband who loves me unconditionally, a family who’s love and support is unwavering, a strong group of people joined together dedicated to my wellness, my happiness. This is my army, together we are strong.

This post originally appeared on Bliss Hunters.