“Therapy really seems to be working for you, you’re coming out of your funk,” a friend said to me.
Don’t misjudge, even when I’m happy I am trying really, really hard.
I started therapy a little while ago because I was having a hard time dealing with life things.
The way I figured it, I’ve dealt with a lot of things in my lifetime. A lot of things have happened to me, and I’ve dealt with them. Dealing is a quantitative thing (for me, at least) and I did not regenerate enough dealing. My bucket of “deal with it” ran empty and I need help sorting things out and filling up my bucket of coping mechanisms, patience and damns. So I am seeing a mental health professional to deal with things going on in my life.
Doing something fun this weekend, realizing how much fun I was having in that moment without trying hard was twinged with a slight sadness at realizing in that one moment how long it has been that I’ve been walling myself off from things that I used to like. “I used to love doing this, why did I stop” I thought, enjoying a beer, music and companionship on a Saturday night.
A few weeks ago while doing crafts, I realized how long it had been since I’ve done crafts. I used to love doing creative things. It had been years. I used to have this whole big storage thing with drawers on it, and boxes, all filled with craft supplies. It was at least 4 years ago that I’d thrown it all away. So four years ago I’d given up even trying to do something I liked. Instead of having the reminder in my home of “hey buddy, look at this thing you like, why not pick up a glue gun and paint brush and see what happens” I instead threw it all away, finding it easier to not have the reminder of not having the fortitude to do something I love.
My initial response to any plans has been to say “no” and then come up with an excuse on why I should not do that one thing. I’ve been no-ing myself out of social events for a while now, only attending just enough things once in a while to maintain my friendships and not be written off by everyone completely.
This isn’t a funny post. It’s just my way of saying that I’m not always “on.” It’s my way of coming out about my depression and anxiety, and just another voice in the choir of “you’re not alone” and that it is okay to get help. You don’t have to be ashamed to get help. Feeling badly mentally is just as bad as feeling ill physically. You go to a doctor and you work on what’s ailing you so that you can live comfortably and happy.
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