The One Where I Talk About Depression.

"Depression" (to the tune of Kendrick Lamar's "Complexion")

Depression (two-step)

Depression don't mean a thing (it's a Zulu love)

Ooh Depression (two-step)

It all feels the same (issa ZULU LUV)

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During my session with my therapist yesterday morning, I was casually describing to her how I have no motivation for anything; I spend my entire morning in bed, too lazy to make myself something to eat, or feeling overwhelmed by the thought of it. By midday/early afternoon, my stomach is hosting a podcast. I should apply for a job, but that feels overwhelming. Washing the dishes? Please. Laundry? Fuhgeddaboutdit. But, everything is totally fine! I'm not depressed, I'm just lazy, I tell my therapist. As soon as I get those words out, I can see my therapist's face go from listening to understand to listening to tell me that that was some bullshit - but professionally.

I've been struggling with depression for a few years now. I've experienced extreme lows, but it's always hard to tell when I'm in the middle of a depressive episode. I'm always playing a game of "Lazy or Depressed" with myself, and "lazy" always wins. The first time I ever experienced a full-blown depressive episode was back in 2015; I was a sophomore in college and my then best-friend and I had just broken up as friends. I was confused, sad, angry, hurt, all the feels. I could barely get out of bed. Going to class felt like I was being asked to appear in court for a crime I did not commit. I was over-eating. I felt lonely, and all I remember from that time period was that the skies were grey and I spent most of my time sleeping, doing homework and binge-watching A Different World. Since then, depression and I have had a very interesting relationship.

It wasn't until my senior year of college that I decided to actually seek professional help in addressing the mental purgatory I'd been living in, and coming to terms with the fact that I experience depression. In the Black community, our responses to mental health could use some serious work. Coming from a religious, West Indian background, me telling my family that I was depressed meant: a) it was time to bring out the scripture, and b) I have nothing to be sad about because when my parents were my age, they had to walk 15 miles to go to school with no shoes and no underwear on, so I have it easy. Do you see where I'm going with this? :) :) :)

Telling my family about my mental struggles and having it be met with "You're too sensitive!" "Depression is of the devil!" and "Just get over it!" was by far one of the most painful things I have experienced. Feeling like you can go to someone you find comfort in, and then having it backfire is top 5 worst feelings ever. 0/10, would not recommend to bloodclaut. From there, I honestly started to internalize that maybe I wasn't depressed. Maybe I was just being dramatic. And so, it began. I analyze every negative feeling I have, because I don't want to feel like I'm dragging it. But what does that even mean? We all know how frustrating it is to have our feelings completely invalidated. So why do we do it to others? Why do we do it to ourselves?

Undermining my feelings, unfortunately, is one of my very special skills. I'm really good at standing in a room where everything is literally on fire and being like "lolz I'm totally fine, it's just hot. haha."

I'm definitely someone who takes mental health seriously and wants to break down stigmas attached to mental health disorders, but I didn't realize that I would need to do that work for myself as well. I think that because I only recognize myself as being depressed when I'm deep in it and I can't get out of bed, it's hard for me to see that I can still live a "normal" life - and be depressed. It doesn't always have to be triggered by a life event, nor does it have to look like those anti-depressant commercials on TV for it to be taken seriously. But it's hard. Accepting that I might experience depression more frequently than I think, is hard.

This morning, I did a meditation about acceptance. I've been trying to do more work around self-love; I definitely need to start loving myself because I've spent a looooooooooot of time hating myself and being my own worst enemy. But a large part of love is acceptance. Accepting all parts of myself. Accepting that my mental health is where it's at, and that's okay. Accepting that I'm going to have bad days, or days where I'm not feeling Healed and Happy™. And that's okay. Some days I'm going to feel like I'm losing my Shit, and that's okay because Shit can always be regained. I always say that I want to work on loving people because and not despite, but that love has to begin with me. Taking my mental health more seriously, because I love myself, is okay.