This mental health journey is such a trip.
Some days, things would be fairly okay. I’d wake up without vigorously hitting the snooze button (okay, sometimes I do. But only because my alarm sound is really annoying), drink a glass of water, try to get a workout in and I’d get ready for work. I’d get through my day (by the skin of my teeth) despite having to deal with extremely irate customers and equally annoying co-workers. Upon getting home, I’d angrily vent to my best friends about my day while either getting ready to do another workout (yes, I sometimes workout twice a day) or household chores. And then finally, I would get straight to planning the content for my blog for the week or I’d just watch memes all night until I fall asleep. Contented.
Typical I-got-my-shit-together day, right?
But on other days, it doesn’t even come as close.
I’d wake up with intense feelings of sadness and hopelessness coursing through my body. All my alarms were missed. It’s probably 6:55am at this point and I’m already late for work. I can’t get out of bed. I try to give myself some “faux-pep” by scrolling through social media for more memes; nothing helps. I miss work. I go back to sleep with the hopes of waking up from that horrible feeling of worthlessness. I wake up. I feel the same. I crawl out of bed and I shower for a little while. I try to eat but that never goes well. Uninterested, I aimlessly scrolling through social media again and I fall asleep. I may cry in between. I may vent. But my day ends. Defeated.
The days when I feel like my entire world is crumbling around me are starting to get worse. I literally feel as though I have no control of anything going on around me and I’m just nerve-rackingly going through the motions and pretending to be fine.
What I fail to remember though is this.
I am suffering.
I am suffering from Major Depressive Disorder. I am going to have good days accompanied with extremely bad ones. I am going to feel down sometimes.
But I’ll never let the suffering end me.
The implications of being sick means that there is a chance for recovery. For growth.
Easier said than done, but I plan on embracing my bad days. Reminding myself that these days are going to come. And that I should prepare myself for them. Never again would I let a bad day make me feel as though I should give up. Never.
Bad day. Not a bad life.
I am sick… But I most certainly am not weak.