It was just one of the many times I spent in the casino. It was a year since I suspected that a depression relapse was imminent. It was exactly a month since my nervous breakdown.
Originally posted on the Confessions of a Wanderer:
There has seemingly been a theme to my recent posts lately, a theme of sadness … a lack of motivation within me… a sort of difficulty adjusting to the changes in my life. (which thank you to all the the people who have reached out to me…
I recognize the value of “faking it until you make it”. I do not discount that it helps to choose happiness. I acknowledge that the mind is a powerful thing. However, whatever coping mechanism any of us chooses to deal with depression, it is important to identify the root cause of the problem and fix it.
Then, I wanted to cry.
WHAT! THE! HECK!
Something must be wrong! Oh, duh!
“But You Don’t Look Sick!”
Because we hide when we are sick and look sick!
Because if others think we look good despite feeling sick deep down, deep inside, we feel slightly better. We don’t want anyone to feel sorry for us.
They are not voices,
at least not loud and clear;
They are more like whispers, inquiring.
Is this what I want – the way that’s right and proper?
Walk the road previously not taken
even if seriously doubting.
I was just a melodramatic princess-wannabe who failed to get the prince Barbara Cartland wrote about in her books that I read about in my teens. People would say…
So, I didn’t dwell much on whatever I was going through. It was something that would pass. Everyone said…
I am just a drama queen, with a natural tendency to be manic depressive.
But, I was diagnosed with clinical depression.