are you healed or do you only think you’re healed?
–Louise Gluck, “Mutable Earth”
I guess I only thought I was healed. I thought the depression was really gone for good. I thought the Deplin cured me.
I was wrong.
The depression has been sneaking back in for weeks now. I didn’t want it to be true, so I pretended it wasn’t there. I even tricked myself into believing it. Everyone else around me believed it too. I wasn’t lying intentionally, but I still lied.
I’ve been feeling more off the last few days, but it wasn’t until last night that I thought to call it depression. Ex and I went to an outdoor Boston Pops concert and fireworks, and on the drive back I got to talking about stuff. I told him despite all the stuff I’m doing , everything feels empty and meaningless. He said, “Yeah, that’s called depression.”
My first reaction was, “No, I’m not depressed. I don’t want to die. Hell, I actually want to live.” I guess that’s my personal threshold for depression because that’s where I spent most of my life. I know on an intellectual level that there are many people who are depressed but not suicidal, but within myself anything short of suicidality doesn’t register.
I’ve been desperately looking for some other answer. It’s not hormonal; I’m a week into my cycle. I don’t think it’s a PTSD. Thing because those symptoms aren’t heightened any more than usual. But if it’s depression, that means the Deplin has quit working, and then what happens? I go back to being nonfuctional, self-destructive, and suicidal all the time? That feels intolerable after six months of actually being HAPPY. I’m not sure I could go back–I’d be afraid I’d kill myself, not out of the irresistible drive that used to fuel my attempts, but out of a calm, calculated decision that I don’t want to live that way again. And an attempt from that frame of mind would probably be successful.
It terrifies me because I do still want my life, but if my depression is gonna come back and keep me from having it, then I don’t wanna be kept alive like that.