put on a happy face

Writing is so therapeutic to me. It is freeing, it is open hearted, it allows the writer to be heard, and it specifies emotions that are difficult to express. Most importantly, to write successfully, especially a blog, I believe it requires vulnerability. Something I need to get out is this: depression sucks. It just sucks. There are no if, ands, or buts about it. It sucks. The worst part is, no. one. talks. about. it. I understand why, trust me. If you are like me, it is embarrassing to admit your brain isn't working how it should. It feels like you are admitting you are crazy. So how do you cope? You watch the number on the scale go up making your mood go down, you sleep so hard you miss the four alarms you set, and you pull into yourself more and more because you don’t look, act, or feel like yourself.

As I said, depression sucks.

I have struggled with a trauma induced depression for almost half a year now, and I have to write about it. I have to get the stream of emotion out on paper, specifying the things I cannot even fully grasp. I think part of me wants to do this for myself, but the other part of me wants to do this for others who are suffering. I found myself in tears this morning because I decided to take a test from a counseling center, "Am I Depressed?" When I got my results, I cried some more. There was some part of me that, upon hearing affirmation of my quiet suffering, felt heard and known. It is time we get real about our hurts, our mistakes, and even our unhappiness. I am a happy girl, so this struggle has sent my identity into a spin. I have gained weight, I have lost motivation to do what I love, I have isolated myself as much as possible because, in all honesty, I am afraid of what people will think of this pseudo-Abby. All of those things are contrary to who I am, truly. I am healthy, I love to work out, I love early mornings, I don’t need much sleep, I am a social butterfly, I have friends.

That is who I am.

This is not who I am. This is not forever. I keep reminding myself of who I am, who I know I am. I make myself get up in the morning when my body fights against me, I make myself eat for fuel not comfort, I make myself read a devotional in the morning- I make myself do the things that make up me. It feels, sometimes, that I am trying to fit into shoes that are too big. But I can’t trust what I feel right now, I can trust what I know. I know who I am, I know whose I am. That is what I cling to in this grey zone. I clear my vision with the sight of who I will be when the grey turns to white, when the dark turns to light. This is apart of my journey to that woman. Though the course is hard, though I feel it will never end, I know it will be worth it.