A friend of mine once told me that sometimes it helps to simply write it out. I'm going to try it today. I don't usually write on this blog, nor do I plan on continuing to do so, or telling anyone I wrote anything to begin with. I can only think of a few people I would tell anyway, but releasing the darkness, just a little bit today, may help. I couldn't run, it's storming out and I have my daughter to watch, so I've been cleaning. Scrubbing away all the grit and grime where there really isn't much in the first place. It's therapeutic though, in a way, sometimes I imagine I'm scrubbing away the sadness and chasing away the demons that occasionally decide to dominate my soul. I fight it as best I can and the medication and counseling has helped, however, I've discovered that depression isn't exactly curable. There's not a magic pill they can give you or wand they can wave to eradicate it entirely and it creeps up on you and suffocates the happy facade you've created.
I don't generally like to tell anyone about the bad days. I know my husband sees them and my little girl too more than likely, although I try and shield her from it. Every now and then I mention it to a few good friends, but I've found that saying I'm sad is often followed by a feeling of guilt. Everyone has bad days and my friends have many too, some more than me. I don't need to burden them with mine. And what do I have to be sad about, really? I have a husband that loves me, a beautiful daughter, a nice house that we rent, a dog, friends...the most painful struggles in my life thus far have passed and here I sit some days ensconced in a sorrow so thick it's difficult to simply breathe.
Yeah that's part of having depression and PTSD. I have a wonderful life with a fabulous man that loves me and would die for me. Yet I have come close to suicide even since I've been with him. There are days I still must pretend. That's not going to go away, Mich. Not that easily. And it's okay to feel bad sometimes, even without a "reason"
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