Depression Part Two

In Depression part one, we left off where Brett had just asked me how bad I thought my depression is. (I had to go because my mom needed the computer.)

“Well, I think, that if you think you’re depressed then are. You know your body and you mind better than anyone else. You know if your sad or not….

….I think that really you’ve been depressed for a long time. That’s why you’ve always had problems with your sleeping and with your weight. I think that when you had to quit dance, that’s when you really started going down hill…”

That’s what my stepmom said. At least, that’s al ong the lines of what she said. I put it in different words for two different reasons: first, I can’t remember exactly what she said, and second, what she said was what I thinking but couldn’t put into words. I completely agree with what she said, and I am so glad that I have her to talk to. She has been a great friend, and a big influence in my life and in the choices that I make.  But this post is not about that, so let’s get back to the subject at hand.

Depression. It sucks. Obviously. But, you don’t really know how bad it sucks until its you. Some days you don’t even want to get out of bed. Not unusual for a teenager maybe, but with depression its different. It’s like you can’t get out of bed. Just the effort to pull the covers off yourself and get your feet on the ground is almost too much. You just want to throw the covers over your head and curl up in a little ball. Nothing seems fun or worth it anymore. I used to write all the time. It was my favorite thing and I was/am good at it. In the past five or six months, though, I haven’t really written much at all. I would sit down to work on one of my stories or to start a new one, and I would just get so discouraged. It just seemed like a long boring task, when really it was just the opposite. But, I would put my laptop away and I’d forget all about writing. The same goes for my art. I was always doing either pen & ink or chalk & charcoal. Then, my art started to lose its meaning and I stopped caring about it. It seemed pointless and trivial. I’d always loved it before, but then I just lost interest in it. Life itself became a useless, boring task.

So, now I’m back in counseling and I’m feeling better. Talking to Brett really helps. I go about every 3 weeks. And, after every session it’s like a weight has been lifted. I can tell Brett things that I would normally keep bottled up. It helps that he can’t tell because of the whole confidentialitly (I can’t spell that word) but he’s also easy to talk to. Oh, and I asked Mom about what he can and can’t tell her or anyone else. She said that he can only tell if I’m a danger to myself and/or others. That’s what I thought but I wasn’t really sure.

I’ll keep updating about the depression, though. So until later….

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