I struggle with depression on a daily basis. I’m on medication and attend therapy sessions, and even still struggle. Every. Single. Day.
The reasons are many.
The usual reason is that I also struggle with a pain disorder (currently diagnosed as gout and fibromyalgia, though who knows). I’m in pain constantly. Usually the pain is tolerable enough that I can go about my day, do my work, and be an active member of my family.
But then there are the other days.
On those days I’m a grump (and that’s being mean to grumps), can barely function (my mobility is severely limited and/or I have to deal with incredible amounts of pain to move), and coherent thoughts are a joke.
That depresses me because it takes me away from my family, which is of primary and significant importance to me.
The other big reasons are my struggles with childhood and teenage traumas. My mother died when I was eleven (there’s a whole bag of depression there), my father was a classic narcissist, and I was sent away to boarding school against my wishes at age seventeen.
It took me seventeen years before I finally admitted I had a problem with these traumas and that I needed help. These traumas are probably the root of my depression, though having been buried for so long, it takes a lot to get them out, identified, and worked on.
Focus on me today. Sitting in my chair, at my writing desk. Today is one of those days where I have no motivation, my passion is lost in the back forty, and I’m struggling to keep my head above the waters of depression before I drown in it and get swept away.
Days like this, everything suffers. My family, my work, my writing. I try my hardest to “just do better.” But it isn’t that easy. I wish it were.