Last week I saw my family doctor. He told me during that visit that I appeared to be doing better, even though I told him I’m still struggling. He told me “to watch some TED talks” so I don’t feel so alone (I know I’m not alone), that perhaps I need to “stop comparing [my] life to others’ lives” (I have a good life, and I know it- I don’t compare my life to other people’s), etc. I basically left that appointment feeling like he doesn’t know me at all, and I left questioning whether or not I am actually depressed.
While logically I know that 1. he only sees me every 6 weeks or so, 2. he doesn’t know how hard I work to control my depression, 3. he doesn’t know how much counseling I’ve had over the years, 4. he doesn’t know that I’m by nature, an optimist… I still started wondering if maybe everything is just in my head and everyone struggles to get stuff done. I spent two days worrying about it. I took several online depression screeners to see if perhaps I wasn’t actually depressed. I googled depression. I drove myself crazy.
I spoke to my counselor about it the next day. She feels I’m still depressed, and that there’s something underlying the sadness we just haven’t uncovered yet. But there are no skeletons in my closet. I did not have a terrible childhood. I’ve never been abused. There’s no traumatic event or loss that would cause my depression.
So I asked her how I fix this- this depression that I cannot shake, that lies to me and tells me I’m not depressed, that sucks the life out of me – because honestly, I’m tired. I am tired of this battle, of feeling exhausted, empty, and sad. I’m not suicidal, but I’m weary of this fight. I want someone to fix me, even though I know that’s not how this works.
I have another counseling session tomorrow, and I’m waiting for an appointment with my psychiatrist. I’m in the mud, but I’m still trudging along. And as long as I’m moving forward, there’s still hope.