Dear Mr. Melissa Blake:
Letting go. Letting go. Letting go. It’s been something that has been slowly creeping into my head. What started as a teeny tiny thought has grown, well, a bit bigger. And apparently, it wants my attention because it doesn’t seem to be going away any time soon. I suppose I should take that as a sign, right? I suppose I should face it, right, Sweetpea?
So what is this big, bad monster that has my knees shaking? An anniversary. It was right around this time last year that I and everything in my world was sidelined by major depression. It’s weird, but even now, it feels like it was just yesterday. And as hard as it is to remember virtually anything from this time, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget how it all left me feeling. Fearful. Confused. Overwhelmed. Confused. Anxious. Perplexed. Confused. So many emotions were flying around me (it seemed like every emotion except happiness), emotions that felt so foreign to me like Californians trying to enjoy a frigid winter in Minnesota.
So I worry at night sometimes. I worry I’ll go back to that place someday. I worry that the evil depression will slither its way back into my life somehow.
The fact is, I’m scared to face it. This whole anniversary thing. I’m honestly scared to look it square in the eyes, face it down and try to convince it that it has no power over me when both of us know very well that it could probably reduce me to a blubbering cream puff if it wanted to. Because in reality, that’s exactly what it’s trying to do. It’s goal is to keep me afraid, to keep me running far, far away. If I don’t think about it, maybe the anniversary will just pass and float off into oblivion. But then on quiet night, like last night, for example, when it was so quiet in my house that I could hear the sound of a pin drop, I know deep down that I have to at least acknowledge it in some way. If nothing else than to make some sort of peace with it. Because only then will I be able to move forward, you know, Sweetpea?
So here I am, Depression (yes, depression with a capital “D”), letting you know that I’ve gone an entire year without you in my life, and I’ve realized something pretty amazing: I don’t need you. Nope. Not one single bit. You’ve never helped me, you’re never going to be able to help me and my life is so much better without you. What do you think, Sweetpea? Do I feel the same about depression wherever we are? Until we meet… xoxo