CAUTION: Trigger Warning!
This post is about depression and mental illness.
If you are having a mental illness crisis or are suicidal,
please contact a distress line or your area’s emergency phone number.
International emergency phone numbers can be found here.
Today I graduated from CBT. Again. No ceremonial procession. No cap and gown. No degree awarded. Just me and my teacher signing off our virtual chat, while I was in jeans and a hoodie, having been granted the knowledge that my illness was in remission mode. Again.
My illness you ask? It’s mental. It has a name. It’s called depression.
Read more: I Graduated. Again.I was first diagnosed with depression at the very, very tender age of eight. About 45 years ago. I had experienced some trauma in my life already by that age. The clincher to getting diagnosed was when I told my mom I wanted to “go sleep with the angels.” Not just once but several times, with varying use of words. A child of that age doesn’t know how or have the vocabulary to express that they don’t want to live anymore. That was my way. My mom understood my way and got help for me. Thank you my angelic Mom.
Depression isn’t chronic for all who have the illness. For me, it is. Sadly, more trauma happened in my childhood and youth. I also have the psychological disorder commonly referred to as PTSD – posttraumatic stress disorder. My depression and my PTSD cohabitate in my psyche. More years than not, they are with me quietly in the basement, sometimes they’re present but peacefully in my living room of life, and sometimes they are in my attic, obnoxiously and loudly, bellowing out at for my attention and disrupting my entire existence.
About six months ago, they both completed their ascension to my attic, hand in hand. One day in January, I had both a “new” memory of a trauma that had been repressed since my childhood, and a panic attack, likely triggered by the memory resurgence. Lots of difficult stuff had been going on in my life before that particular day. I simply thought it was high stress leading to physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion. I didn’t see it for what it was: depression. And that for many, including me, is a common symptom of the illness. Every instance that I can recall of my depression coming out of remission has slowly crept up and then blindsided me. This one was no exception.
I’ll be sharing more about my mental illness AND wellness in the future. In fact, it is one of the primary reasons why I returned to writing. Not just for the therapeutic effect it has in my soul. Which is amazing by the way. But also to increase awareness and share resources about depression, suicidal tendencies, anxiety, panic attacks, PTSD, and addictions. Including what I have gained after doing CBT a handful of times now. CBT being Cognitive Behavioural Therapy.
For now, I just want to say I couldn’t have beaten latest occurrence of my depression alone. I am strong, I am smart, and I am brave. I have championed a lot solo. But when it comes to my mental illness, I need others to be givers of care. I need help. On a different day back in January, I uttered the words my depression doesn’t like to say out loud. I called my nurse and said ‘please help me.’ Even that act involved somebody else. She was part of my transition from I to we, my first step to getting better. Again.
Their Words. My Musings. 