Depression

this post was drafted in 1/26-ish
Remember the Jesus Man and the night I spent in the waiting room of a mental health facility in Florida?
The next morning when I got to be evaluated I was told that I had depression. Maybe manic was used in there too, and maybe the word clinical. I really don't recall, at that point depression was the only word that I knew so it was the word that stuck. It was quite the conversation and bit of a hard one, especially since I came from my family where you just get over it and stop feeling sorry for yourself. I was not sure how to handle this news and was not sure I wanted to take medication. But I agreed. She was very persuasive and I liked her temperament so I listened and agreed. I also agreed to meet with a lovely psychologist, her name was Peggy (or maybe that was the psychiatrist). It was in talking with her that I learned that it was actually not a normal thing to have thoughts of self destruction and how. She legitimately and authentically answered "no" after giving it some thought when I asked her if she really had never thought about it.
It was mind blowing.
Maybe there really was a medical problem with me.
I also explained how I felt I was being crushed by an anvil like in the cartoons, only it was slow and constant.
I told here about how I wanted to break my brain open so I could see all the pieces and sort out the puzzle that was inside. I explained how I was stuck in indecision because I wanted to do everything and if I started down one path that would keep me from doing the other things and then I'd be missing out on those. She learned about my excessive jobs (I think I held four at the time) and my slew of activities I was involved in during high school. I didn't see her that many times, but I loved her and she was a great source of comfort to me. She helped me be okay with taking medication.
When I arrived back home all the way across the country a few months later, one of the first things I did was head to the library to find out what I could about this "illness" I had been diagnosed with. I think the word manic may have been used because I remember information about that in my stack of books. My stack was at least knee high, probably closer to my waist. One of those stacks that make you think "Wow, I am surprised a public library lets people check out that many books at once."
I renewed them a couple of times.
I will admit I did not fully read all of them, I probably didn't fully read any of them front to back really, but I read a lot. I skimmed to what was most important to know. What would help me. I only skimmed most of the personal stories as I started to feel the sense of hopelessness that was a common theme.
While I learned a lot, like that caffeine and alcohol are major contributors to depression and anxiety, that regular exercise and a healthy diet were important etc., Over all I really did not like how damn depressing they all were. How so much of the writing was there to convince me or my family members that this was going to be a problem for me my entire life.
With much resolve and determination I decided that was not for me. I would not like that to be me. I was not going to let this be a damned lifelong depressing battle.
And though I enjoy some crazy sometimes and I do occasionally go on antidepressant (this most recent because of the car accident) I feel that over all I have beat the hellish depression of my younger days. Even having lost myself and feeling the pain of rejection from some pretty intense situations, I am not depressed, at times delusional, sometimes sad and hurt.  okay, I suppose sometimes I am depressed but I have learned so many coping strategies and know how to identify it, treat it, embrace it, and avoid it as needed. And really I feel quite happy about this. Looking back I can say it sucks and it's hard but I can also say I have learned and gained so much in really truly trying to overcome it and/or work with it. I am a better and happier version of me because of it!
Really, depression is not all bad. :)