I've had a lot on my mind lately. I can't tell if there's a lot happening in my life or if my brain is not processing things like it used to - although, I guess I don't really remember a time in my life when my mind felt at peace. Life has gone by so quickly for me, almost like watching a movie - before I know it, another year is over, and I scramble to find meaning behind it all while still processing what the f*ck just happened.
I guess a lot of people feel like this.
It can be really isolating dealing with depression and anxiety. Obviously, other people deal with this, and I'm absolutely not alone in the struggle. But, I never used to talk about it - even in middle school, when I was starting to feel the isolation and sadness, I wouldn't talk about it to my parents or to the therapists they would take me to. I wouldn't mention anything to the few friends I had, or even the teachers I trusted the most. I never learned to process, validate, and trust my own emotions. I never allowed myself to express myself and how I was feeling at any moment. Even now, trying to put down to words how I feel about this, brings tears to my eyes that I don't really understand - because there is still so much for me to learn about myself and my depression.
It kinda sucks. I've learned to live with it, but I don't really want to anymore.
So, in the last 4 years, I've been in and out (and in and out again) of therapist offices, behavioral clinics, and psychiatric facilities, scrambling again and again to find meaning and some sort of respite from it all. I've learned so much about psychology and emotional health, but have had a hard time applying it to my life. It's frustrating to "know the answers" but have none of the motivation to use them. It's even more frustrating to become so self-aware, and watch yourself fall down the same rabbit hole that you've been trying to avoid.
But, such is a life in recovery. Maybe I do understand these tears - they're a mixture of frustration and sadness, that I've allowed so much of my life pass by without learning how to really live. That I've allowed the knowledge I've attained to go to waste. That I still haven't found meaning in anything I do or create.
I recently talked to someone on Instagram about how relatable my story is - as a 28 year old woman with depression, I was having a hard time posting consistently and still feel like I'm saying something worthwhile. I had been considering starting a blog for a while, but was hesitant about how receptive my audience would be to discussions about depression. Her response was simple, but has been ringing in my ears ever since she sent the message, and now there's no way I can turn back:
"You can give us all a voice"
Stay tuned.