I never know what to write in these things, but it’s probably a good idea to at least introduce myself so ya’ll have some idea who tf I am. Or not. I probably won’t even get any followers. Why would I? I’m just some random girl trying to make people feel better about their stupid mental health even though my stupid mental health is stupid. But trigger warning here, please take the time you need for yourself. Mention of self-harm. But I can’t leave those parts out. That’s the whole point, I’m not perfect, and I’m not pretending. I’m changing, growing, screwing up, trying again, and during it all I’m trying to turn that into a beacon for other people who are also stuck fighting their own stupid brains.

Anyways….

I’ve known I’ve had depression since I was a kid. At the time I just never knew what it was and felt like it was normal. Feeling numb and enclosed in my own mind, with scary thoughts as a kid not even in pre-teens is something I never wish for any child to go through. When I got a little older, 13-14, I began trying to feel things the only way that seemed to work, which was with self inflicted pain. By 15-16 it became partying with older people. I looked older so never had trouble getting into the parties that only required you to be 16 at the time since no alcohol was being sold.

By the time I was 18 I had seen what that lifestyle did to many of my older friends. I didn’t want that to be me, still in the throes of this phase, forever wishing the party to continue, unhappy with the day to day, only happy when using things like alcohol or other stuff to cope.

So I disappeared. I left, and went back home. Still depressed and still anxious but now I was trying to get my act together and finish high school. Which I did. It was difficult but I did, just before the cutoff(age 19) where I would have had to get a mature student diploma. I was proud of myself. The first in my family to graduate and it felt good.

As I stumbled into adulthood my depression grew deeper and darker. I moved away from my family to be with a partner and ended up developing a drinking problem. I was drinking a lot, but hey, at least I quit smoking cigarettes. And then, in the deepest depression I’d ever been in, I returned back to the town I grew up in. Thinking that I could outrun the demon in my mind, I tried to dive into healthcare work. I became a care aide, helping seniors maintain their dignity and provide a compassionate ear. They had the best stories! Thinking that maybe me helping others would give me the satisfaction of joy I’d so longed to have. But it only wore me down, experiencing death, brutality of humans towards other humans, and the politics within the Canadian healthcare system. So deeper I fell. Into the darkness that pulled me gently closer to its warm embrace. The forever silence. The not. And I eventually tried to succumb to the not. But, unless ghosts can type, clearly I failed at being not, and instead I am.

Enter Therapy

After that moment I reached out to a therapist. This was my first real exposure to therapy. A wise man who helped pull me out of myself and into someone I could finally strive to be, while unapologetically being myself. For the next few years I found on and off peace as I was in a job that valued me, had a partner that was supportive of my journey, and medication that allowed me to finally breathe and see the beauty in the world and feel authentic joy for the first time in a LONG time. It was nice.

The on and off piece was me thinking that I could stop taking the medication once I got better, but instead it only lead me down that same dark path, very quickly. After ups and downs through the years I finally resigned myself to the fact I would be on medication for the rest of my life. Ah, so be it.

It’s not the answer to everything, but it helps keep the dark demon at bay enough, the one that used to tug at the blinds in my mind trying to put me back into the darkness towards the not. The amount of effort that it’s taken me to just “not be depressed” is astronomical at best. It’s hard, some days are harder. And, if you then get later diagnosed with ADHD more of the world you’ve been living in makes more sense. Additionally with that It also never helped being an introvert trying to navigate life. Even though I knew I had friends, I still had to learn to juggle my social battery depletion during events and hangouts with the feeling of being a bad friend when I couldn’t make those fun times. Which, if you have depression, you know that those invitations slowly trickle away and you become what I call “the backup friend”. The one people call after they’ve asked everyone else.

You mean there’s not just something wrong with me?! I’m truly mentally fucked?!

*Pikachu face*

Fast forward to the now where I’ve moved to another place yet again(whole new country this time!), gotten married and have two beautiful fur-babies along with a beautiful step-daughter who I love as my own. Did my depression go away? Nope. Do I have it mostly under control? SURE!!! All I know is that for me, my life has been a series of ups and downs, highs and lows, but even during the highs I have depression. During the moment I belly laugh so hard I’m in tears, I still have depression. And during the moments I’m emotionally numb, too exhausted to wear a mask, I still have depression.

And here’s the part that matters now:

I’m changing. I’m learning. I’m healing. Not perfectly or not cleanly, not in some TikTok-aesthetic-sunlit way. But I’m evolving into someone who wants to help others walk through their own mental chaos because I’ve spent years walking through mine. And while I’ve walked with others at times, I know how insanely difficult and brutal it is to walk alone. I don’t want that for anyone.

I’m not here to “fix” anyone. I’m not here as some perfect guru who is pretending to have their shit together. I’m here as someone who knows the monster in the mind, who’s made friends with it, negotiated with it and even yelled at it.

That’s me. That’s who I am. And I’m tired of apologizing for it, I’m tired of wearing a mask when I don’t want to and I’m tired of people that don’t have depression not taking the time to truly understand it when there is someone they love who has it. It hurts. Every day. Some days it just hurts a little less.

And now I’m working to bring this awareness, along with a little bit of hope, and a little bit of “hey, you’re not crazy, your brain’s just loud” to the world.

One fucked up post at a time.
One person at a time.
And maybe, eventually, one life changed at a time.

Including my own.