Next in line: Anxiety's sidekick
If only it were so easy to silence my demons. Just take a few pills and the demons go to sleep, but not forever they always come back. When the anxiety is silenced or the panic attack she induced has calmed, that is when her sidekick takes up the axe to keep the fight alive. Depression is a sneaky demon, not quite so aggressive as anxiety but she still causes immense harm because she doesn't just hurt me. When she comes for a visit from the recesses of my mind, she slowly steals away my passions, my confidence, my desire to do anything.
She steals my energy, too. Some days it takes everything in me just to get out of bed.
Most days when she is here, I can keep my mask in place so that no one can see that in reality I'm dying inside. Where anxiety screams, depression whispers convincing tales in my ear. But the longer she stays the harder it is to keep the mask in place. My mask starts to slip and people start to see the despair behind the mask. I work harder to keep the mask in place, but eventually all I can manage is somewhere between angry and neutral. It is not happy, not even a facsimile of happy, but I get to keep some semblance of control.
The biggest problem with depression, though, is what she does to those I love. Because I am under attack by my own depressive thoughts, I hide from those I love. I don't talk. I don't ask for help. I don't play or do anything I normally enjoy. My friends, my family- they don't understand. It's not what I want to do. I want to be up and happy. I want to enjoy the things I should or even see a world that is bright and colorful instead of cold gray.
I take medication, of course, and that helps a little. But it's hard to admit that I probably need a higher dose because I am afraid that if I take more then I will lose who I am. It's so strange. I've been on higher doses. Even though I was finally feeling better and more in control, I keep getting told that my personality disappears.
So I come off the medication and depression returns, but for some reason my friends and family are still not happy and I am feeling worse than before. I want those I love to be happy, even if it means I am not, but they are not happy.
So I start a new medication and get to a dose that just barely keeps the depression at bay on a good day. And I try to keep things hidden. I try not to feel. I try not to let anyone know that I don't have it all under control. But depression is still there. Miss a dose, have a visit from one of my other demons, and it all comes crumbling down until I find myself wondering if it's all even worth it.
Truth be told, I would never harm myself. I have too much to live for. But that doesn't stop the thoughts, the whispers that the world would be better without me in it.
Don't be mistaken- I don't want pity. I want to share my story and that means sharing the constant war I am in with my own mind as to whether I have an worth. I don't know, maybe someone out there will read my story and take heart. Maybe they will simply understand. Maybe they can even relate. But if my story can help even one person, then exposing the things I try to keep secret is worth it.
She steals my energy, too. Some days it takes everything in me just to get out of bed.
Most days when she is here, I can keep my mask in place so that no one can see that in reality I'm dying inside. Where anxiety screams, depression whispers convincing tales in my ear. But the longer she stays the harder it is to keep the mask in place. My mask starts to slip and people start to see the despair behind the mask. I work harder to keep the mask in place, but eventually all I can manage is somewhere between angry and neutral. It is not happy, not even a facsimile of happy, but I get to keep some semblance of control.
The biggest problem with depression, though, is what she does to those I love. Because I am under attack by my own depressive thoughts, I hide from those I love. I don't talk. I don't ask for help. I don't play or do anything I normally enjoy. My friends, my family- they don't understand. It's not what I want to do. I want to be up and happy. I want to enjoy the things I should or even see a world that is bright and colorful instead of cold gray.
I take medication, of course, and that helps a little. But it's hard to admit that I probably need a higher dose because I am afraid that if I take more then I will lose who I am. It's so strange. I've been on higher doses. Even though I was finally feeling better and more in control, I keep getting told that my personality disappears.
So I come off the medication and depression returns, but for some reason my friends and family are still not happy and I am feeling worse than before. I want those I love to be happy, even if it means I am not, but they are not happy.
So I start a new medication and get to a dose that just barely keeps the depression at bay on a good day. And I try to keep things hidden. I try not to feel. I try not to let anyone know that I don't have it all under control. But depression is still there. Miss a dose, have a visit from one of my other demons, and it all comes crumbling down until I find myself wondering if it's all even worth it.
Truth be told, I would never harm myself. I have too much to live for. But that doesn't stop the thoughts, the whispers that the world would be better without me in it.
Don't be mistaken- I don't want pity. I want to share my story and that means sharing the constant war I am in with my own mind as to whether I have an worth. I don't know, maybe someone out there will read my story and take heart. Maybe they will simply understand. Maybe they can even relate. But if my story can help even one person, then exposing the things I try to keep secret is worth it.
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