My brain's a little sick. I can tell because its words have gotten twisted. It speaks malformations, misshapen thoughts and denials of hope. "This suffering will not end. No one sees you, respects you, acknowledges or helps you. You are alone. Give up."
I am not the depression. The depression is not me.
I don't blame my brain for getting sick. I know why it ails. Oppression is greedy. It pervasively gorges itself on happiness, believes you don't deserve any because your existence is "flawed." Oppression is overt and covert, capable of flanking you from every direction, yet, also capable of quietly slipping through your carefully crafted defenses.
I am not the depression and the depression is not me.
I am worthy. I am good. I am more than my thoughts. I am a survivor and I endure. I will get up and live because... . I must. I have fought too hard and for too long to lay down and die. I may get sick, but I will heal. And I will do this because I am more than this struggle. I write this post today because it is important for others to know depression is not a choice. It is not something I sought out or wanted. My depression is a logical consequence of discrimination and marginalization. It is something very real, a barrier that has been getting in the way of what I want to do and be.
I ask that you be kind with me, and with all those around you who are hurting. This illness wants to win. It doesn't like to relent. But it can be managed and overcome through treatment, self-compassion, and kindness. I will continue to remind my brain that I am more than this illness. And If you need to borrow this mantra, please do.
We are more than the depression. The depression is not us.