i’ve probably been depressed longer than i can actually remember. which in and of itself is depressing. it’s been a LONG road from beginning to here, and though i personally mark my lowest point as the period of ages 21-23, wherein i had a complete mental meltdown, i think that was easier than this current juncture in my life. why? because it was complete. the mania wasn’t as manic and the depression was constant and crippling. i had social anxiety disorder, adhd, and i was depressed. simple and complete. i either got up or i didn’t. i ate nothing or i tried to eat everything i could put my hands on. i went outside to smoke and that’s as far as i’d venture into the world. my sofa was my spot. or the floor. my friends knew. they’d come to 218 and i’d be right there, pink blanket, ashtray, drink, joint or blunt, newports, and remote. chillin or asleep.

i had a schedule. got up around 2 ish, laid on the sofa for an hour. took a shower. went to work @ 4. went to the bar immediately after work. got home around 3am wasted. go to sleep do it all over the next day. if i didn’t have to work the farthest i ventured was from my bed to the bathroom to the sofa to the kitchen to outside and back to the sofa. all of that was within an 8-10ft radius.

even that became too much. i needed help. not just because i needed help, but because sometimes, to look into the faces of my friends when they looked at me and saw someone totally different than who they loved made me feel like shit, like it was my fault, and it kinda was cause i wouldn’t do anything about it but i simultaneously felt hopeless. they saw me destroying myself, they saw me in pain. they knew i needed help. and though they didn’t pressure me to do anything i wasn’t ready to do, they made sure i knew that they were there with me. i was on a bullet train to an early grave.

i went to a therapist. i took the medication. i was a zombie. no racing thoughts. no urges to do anything. i rested well at night, actually waking up before 2pm. i went out and spent the money i earned at my new job on things other than food and food and gas and liquor and cigarettes. i felt better. eventually i went back to school. was it difficult? painfully so, but i graduated. God helped me. he’s with me now as i write this.

i wanna debunk some myths for the many sisters out there who are killing themselves softly because they refuse to or feel pressured not to admit what’s going on. depression is not a defect. it’s not like having 11 toes or 4 breasts. it’s an illness, and before you close your pious mind, let me tell you that i too have been told by many in the church that i have demons and spirits because i’m honest about my condition. do i believe that there is a spiritual connotation with being depressed? yes, but there is also a metaphysical and physiological issue with mental illness. it’s not like you woke up one morning and said, “today i will feel like shit for the entire day. i will not eat, bathe, smile, talk, or care. i will sit here in a catatonic state because that’s how much i love and appreciate the me that i am.” who would do that? who would want the mood swings, the body image issues, in my case the OCD and complete disdain for looking at myself? who wants to feel completely overwhelmed and bombarded with this thing with which we wrestle. nobody i know. and i know alot of people who are not depressed. and i know alot of people who are and won’t admit it.

you are not weak because you won’t say you are depressed, you are weak because you allow what you think others’ perceptions, ideas and opinions about you and depression control how you deal with your life.

here are some things i want to share from my experience. they may help, they may not. either way, i’m still putting them out there.

1. it is perfectly alright to cry. chances are you’re going to do it whether you want to or not. and if you fight it, it will only make things worse. does it make you feel better? well, it depends. if your dog dies, maybe, if you experienced a bad break up, possibly. if you can’t find your favorite tee shirt, probably not. i used to cry because…… didn’t matter what it was. i remember crying one day because i had missed “the kids next door”. looking back it’s sad. and stupid. but it was a part of my experience. there was a brokenness, a disconnect. so i cried. and it wasn’t about whatever was going on. it was for every uncried tear i’d ever had. they will find a way out. just let them come.

2.fuck what they say. i know y’all are accustomed to me writing about God and may feel i have lost points because i curse, but my point to you would be “ever heard of saul?” and even beyond that, i’m still a work in progress. anyway, i had let what the all knowing “they” had to say about depression and mental illness control how i felt before during and almost after i went through my breakdown. that was the dumbest shit i could have ever done. black women are human and are just as likely to be depressed as anyone else and probably more likely. having a mental illness doesn’t make you dumber, less adept, less likely to succeed, poorer, or any other stupid idea that we have been force fed. you are not weak. as a matter of fact, you have to be strong because you have to continue to put that front on in public like everything is fine even though you’d rather just ball up and cry. you have to continue to be the mother, sister, aunt, gramma, caregiver, coworker and friend. the usher, praise team leader, counselor what have you while you search long and hard for some rest and solace. they don’t know about this here. and if they did, they’d shut the halibut up.

so what if they talk about you? they don’t have to wake up with you or go to sleep with you or look at you and feel what you feel when your eyes connect with themselves in the mirror and then immediately connect with the flaws you see looking back at you. they don’t have to deal with the mania. that ridiculously out of control side of your personality that pushes you, pulls you and leaves you drained and drops you into that hellhole of depression. i’m bipolar and you are?

3. prayer is good. God is good. church is good. therapy is good. meds are good. God is good. illnesses need to be treated. we hear on the news all the time about parents who go to jail because they refuse to let their children have medical treatment. they anoint pray and the children die. is that a lack of faith? no, it’s foolishness. there were doctors in the bible. LUKE WAS A PHYSICIAN AND HE WROTE A GOSPEL!! God gave some of us the ability to heal and He inspired others to go to school to learn medicine. So if he did all that, what makes you think he would want you to suffer? that shows a lack of faith. use everything to your advantage. i learned so much about me in therapy. things i’d forgotten and repressed. major things about my personality and my personhood came out and looked at me like “for real?” had i stuck with it, i’d probably be better off. but i didn’t. it takes diligence, it takes commitment. you are literally fighting for your life. you have to do it on both fronts. the natural for the physiological and the spiritual for, well, the spiritual. find a church where you can be fed. and get fed. social interaction helps quell the fires of mania and lift one out of the pits of depression. prayer helps balance the hopelessness and renews the self discipline that adhd robs one of. don’t overdo it. just go and expect God. He’s expecting you.

4. depression happens and it can kill you. whether you smoke to deal, or eat to deal , or shop to deal , or drink to deal, or snort or toke or fuck or whatever to deal. if you don’t deal constructively, you will die definitely. and quickly. inside and out.

i learned how to deal with my illness before i knew what it was. i got REALLY quiet. i don’t talk alot anyway, so since i knew there was a possibility that i would have a mood swing or be triggered into a rage, i’d just shut the fuck up. and keep it that way. my face betrays me, can’t help that. but i don’t let the words OUT. because once they start… it’s all downhill from there.

i had to learn how to control my urges. the thing i hate most about the meltdown was it left me doubting. i would be double minded about everything, where i was once goal oriented and said what i meant and did what i said i was going to do. it’s a process, and five years later, i’m still working on it.

5.you have to make a conscientious effort to help yourself. you have to tell yourself “i love you” everyday. you have to talk about it to someone. i used to clam up because i thought my friends didn’t wanna hear the same shit everyday. but because they are the women and men they are, it was okay for me to lean on them. they held me up. if you don’t have a support system, build one. if your friends are not strong enough, you’ll find out. chances are their lack of support will show you why they should be outside your circle anyway.

no one loves me like i do. no one can kick my ass like i do. no one is responsible for me except me. do what you need to do to get you back. it’s the most important thing you can do. your life is at stake here. hear me, you have to fight for your life. no matter how you feel, fight anyway.

i’m battling right now. i am determined to kick this shit to the other side of the curb. but it’s an ongoing battle. and i’m well seasoned. been dealing with it since elementary school. we are going to make it. we have to. now go blow your nose, and wash your face. snot is never sexy.