I have a mental illness

Sometimes I feel like if I’m not crying or miserable then people judge me for saying I have depression. I don’t look sad enough to have the feelings I do. The dark clouds. The black room. This includes some encounters I’ve had with trained staff.

Despite the fact I’ve been diagnosed by several Gp’s with depression & anxiety, the last Gp told me I didn’t look depressed but did look anxious. I’m sorry I didn’t look it?!? Maybe he could have read my notes. Not to forget the fact I’ve tried many anti-depressants & various other methods.

In the last 13 years I have been on: Citalopram, Fluoxetine, Escitalopram, Sertraline, Trazodone, Amitriptyline & finally Venlafaxine. I’ve had Diazepam, Propanolol & now Buspirone for my anxiety.

I’ve been to Jan de Vries & tried alternative treatments.

I’ve had acupuncture.

I tried counselling when I was younger- I got told that if I just gave up the alcohol I’d be much happier. That was my comforter. Alcohol made me happy.

Anyway, I’ve now had counselling which is ending against my will- though I’ll be forever grateful for her help! I have an appointment with a psychiatrist & an occupational therapist.

Yes I have good days… sometimes more than one in a row… this is a huge improvement & I try my best not to crash & burn. I try not to give my power away or to pour from an empty cup. This is my recovery phase. This is where I’m trying to build a foundation. Where I struggle on a daily basis not to fall backwards into that black room.

I will slip, there will be days I can’t possibly function but hopefully they will pass.
So for those who think I look happy & can’t be as bad as I say I am, thank you for believing my fake smiles & my mask, for supporting me, encouraging me & helping me.

Also, thank you so much for the stigma of mental health people continue to support!

It’s the small minded opinions of what depression & other conditions should look like that make it so much harder for people to speak out & get help.

It’s taken me 12 years to get to this stage where I feel no shame in talking about my battle. How good or bad I feel. The endless battle with overthinking. With the lethargy and all the other symptoms.

If I could show you my depression as a visible illness, like a broken arm or a chest infection then I would. Trust me I would. But I can’t.

So for now I’ll continue to support the battle to end the stigma of mental health whilst I fight my own internal war. πŸ’šπŸ’šπŸ’šπŸ’šπŸ’šπŸ’šπŸ’šπŸ’šπŸ’šπŸ’šπŸ’šπŸ’šπŸ’šπŸ’šπŸ’šπŸ’šπŸ’š

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