Imagine this: You are lost, and trying to get home. You don't know how long it's been. Your feet hurt, your knees hurt, your back hurts, your head hurts. You are exhausted. You are physically, mentally, and emotionally drained. There is nothing left. It's just you and the fog. You have no idea how long the fog has surrounded you. It seems like it has always been there. You don't really notice it anymore. And then there are the voices. They slither through the fog, insidious. They whisper of fear and sadness, anger and despair. There is no reason to go on. There's nothing to go on for. It's just you and that damn fog. The fog is worse than the voices. The voices speak helplessness, but the fog shows it. Because if the fog would lift, you would see that you are almost home. But it doesn't lift, you can't see where you are, and you give up.
That fog is what depression is like for me. Luckily for me, through Grace and Mercy, it lifted long enough for me to hear a friendly voice and get treatment. The fog doesn't lift for everyone, and not everyone has a friend who will take them by the shoulders and tell them to go to their doctor and get on Prozac or something.
It has taken me a long time to write about this. It's hard, to find the right words and to get the courage to post. It's especially hard to do both at the same time. But today is World Suicide Prevention Day, and I needed to do something. To be the friend who takes you by the shoulders. To let someone, anyone, everyone know that is it okay to ask for help. There is nothing to be ashamed of. There are other people like you out there. You have worth and are loved. And it's hard. I know. It is still hard for me and it's been twenty years. That damn fog still follows me around. Most of the time, it's just a wisp of a reminder. And sometimes, it's dense enough for the voices to start up again, telling me lies. But I struggle and fight, because while the fog is dense, now I can see home and I know I can make it.
Facts,
Truth, and the Liar
by
Catherine M Braun
In this world, we know, there is Fact
and there is Truth.
This is Fact: there is a serotonin
deficiency in my brain.
But this is Truth: there is a Liar in
my head.
And the Liar tells me, “Of course,
the sky is blue.”
And, “Of course, the sun is shining.”
And, “Of course, your family loves
you.”
But also, “Blue is really gray.”
And, “Sun is really rain.”
And, “Everyone would be better off if
you and your moods were gone.”
This is not a piercing grief or a
glancing blow.
This is a smothering, a sinking:
an avalanche of despair and all I see
is snow.
I think, Maybe there is too much
blood in my chest, and that is why it aches.
And the Liar says, “Yes, yes – if
you open your veins the pressure will ease.”
And I think, Maybe.
In this world, Fact is not
necessarily as important as Truth.
This is Fact: I'm treating my depression.
But this is Truth: I'm
silencing the Liar with every breath I take.
