“Are you depressed?” the doctor asks me. I ponder each word “are..you..” That’s me. “Depressed”. The word hangs like it’s own sentence, paragraph, entire document, and all of life itself. My first thought is “how would I know i’m depressed if i’ve been depressed so long I forgot what being truly happy felt like?” But I have had moments of true happiness and loving and loved.
“Depressed…” My second thought is that I take meds for it so I don’t feel like being dead anymore, but I certainly don’t spend whole days smiling like they do in commercials- but I have a company to run here! “Depressed…” I want to say no, never since I don’t want to complain and be on his depressed patient list. “Depressed…” The medications I’ve been forced to take in order to walk made me 40 pounds heavier in 5 months. but there are more important things… “Depressed…” I still ache everywhere. Is it RA or is it depression like the tv advert? Plus, I think, I don’t sit on the end of my bed and stare into space while I tell my kid I won’t play ball with them. Heck, I don’t know if it’s even safe for me to have kids with my 2 chronic diseases.
And that thought takes me to “depressed…” wouldn’t you be if it hurt to walk, to write, to hold hands, to sit, to stand, to go up stairs, to reach, to …. It goes on and on. I don’t want to sound pathetic so I say “sometimes”. That’s true given my glimpses of joy when my insomnia subsides and I can goto sleep. It’s also true when my love Jax takes so much care in my good health. It’s also true when an old friend reaches out (just when you think they’re all gone forever) and says, “i don’t care if you complain every time we talk and that’s all you do-i just want to stay friends”. and really means it.
“Depressed?” Yes, absolutely – but I refuse to let it define me.