I do not know which is worse – being depressed, or being on the verge of depression. I decided to write this post, right this moment, because it will capture best, what I am about to talk about; What is depression to me?
It
is delicate. So, so delicate, because even now as I am about to say this, I do
not want to say it; the exact words: “I live with chronic disease” (yes, I
cringed again!) that comes with everyday excruciating and widespread pain in my
bones and muscles and joints and skin and flesh and hair(!!!), migraines that
make me want to die every time, IBS, RLS, TMJ, sleep disorder, increased
sensitivity to temperature, light, sound, touch, etc, and the one I HATE THE
MOST – occasional cognitive challenges/dysfunction, among others. I have very
good days when pain is down to “bearable”, my brain is not messing with me, and
the range of symptoms are all mellowed, and then there are the days when I can
manage to function but to the ones I “complain” to, they know I am not having
it easy, and then there are days I am in bed, barely able to move, in blinding
pain, and wishing I’d either slip into a coma, or die.
Depression,
to me, is not wanting to say all that I just said because I do not want my
loved ones hurting from worry and helplessness. I do not want it to seem as if
I want people to see me as this super girl dealing with loads of shit and so
win some kind of admiration. I do not want it to seem like “are you the only
one going through things?!” I do not want to seem ungrateful. I do not want to
complain about the same thing every single day. And yet I AM dealing with all
of this daily.
Depression is walking that line, keeping that balance – either stomach
your troubles because everyone has some hard knocks to deal with or maybe cry
in the streets so all know that, the walking is killing you. It is wanting
to be comforted but not pitied, understood but not exploited…
Depression is
wondering why that one particular friend won’t ask you how you’re dealing, and
then wondering again why you’d even want him/her to, after all they do see you
and you wear smiles and respond “I’m good” to their “How are you’s”.
It is
dealing with the thoughts that creep on you, telling you “they don’t really
care about you, don’t you see?” yet you know that’s not true…point is, you
don’t even want them caring so much.
Depression is wondering if money spent on
your medicals is too much for your caregivers, if they think you are just being
lazy sometimes, if you are draining them emotionally. “Are they tired of me?”
“Do I wear him out?” But these are the people closest to you…they are family,
and the love of your life…they are not going anywhere, and you hate that this
has to be dealt with on the regular.
It
is being unable to go out much to the places you’d have loved to be at. Like
now, as I type this – this is NOT where I’d rather be, but I get exhausted and
risk a flare up when I do not pace myself and be careful about how much I work
or overwork myself. I remember sometime in March when I was at an event to read
from an anthology I’d been published in. All through the program, I was in so
much pain, the seat was uncomfortable, I was nauseous and irritable, and I just
really wish I was in bed. At the end of it when I looked at the time and
thought of having to get myself home, I nearly burst out crying. That was the
first time in a whole year and some months that I’d been out at an event at
that time. But the talking, the energy that I used, the interaction…they were
all too much, and I hated that it was so. I wasn’t happy, but I had to be nice,
and courteous, and…oh dear.
Do
not get me wrong, I am not depressed every day. Truth is, I am not, most of the
time, but I do get on the verge of it, and then catch myself. The times I sink
deep into depression are the days that I suffer really bad flare ups that don’t
allow me to do anything at all. A lot of studies show that people suffering
from chronic conditions are prone to anxiety and depression – it is not
surprising. This is not easy. One more thing in my case, is that I am on
antidepressants, actually, although I am on it primarily for nerve damage and
not because I have been clinically diagnosed with depression. Sometimes, I
wonder…what if I stop taking them? Will I topple into deep, deep depression? Is
this pill what is holding me back?
I’d
like to think not. In fact…I think not.
But…
*shrugs*
About The Author:
Amma Konadu is a young poet, writer, blogger and
literary enthusiast. She was an English Major in The University of Ghana and is
currently doing her postgrad studies at the Regional Institute for Population Studies,
University of Ghana. Her research interests are in Gender, Religion and Sexual
Reproductive Health and Risk Issues. She blogs personally at ammakonadu.wordpress.com,
is the editor-in-chief and runs a book review column at theampedhub.com and co-runs a
Christian Women Blog at c2bghana.WordPress.com
Amma... *hugs*
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