I used to be one of you.
For the majority of my life, I've thought people with depression were just ... depressing. Not being able to get out of bed, blubbering all the time, needing drugs, talking about your feelings? Come on, now. Cry me a river. When you're done, mop up the snot puddle, pull yourself up by the bootstraps and get on with your life. Open the curtains. Put on some real pants. Stop eating Twinkies for every meal. Simple, right?
Other than a short time during my teenage years when I went slightly emo, I've always been the happy-go-lucky one. Annoyingly chipper. Make-people-want-to-bitch-slap-you bubbly. I've always been the first to throw a Bible verse and a box of Kleenex at "depressed" people and run, unwilling to sully my rose-colored version of reality with their "issues".
One day, my bubble popped. Junk happened and a huge part of my life crumbled. Then I had a baby and my hormones went haywire. I got sucked into the dark void without even realizing it. I can't recall the exact moment, but all the memories after it are fuzzy, like I'm looking at them through the fingerprint-smeared windows I am now proud owner of.
I've been on a roller coaster ever since.
I don't want to write about postpartum depression. Huge leaps have been made in de-stigmatizing it, but it's still not trendy like celiac disease, ya know? It's embarrassing and hard and it makes me cry. Who am I kidding? Everything makes me cry right now.
It's time to share, though. I'll be writing about it in the coming weeks. Feel free to throw Kleenex at me.
In the meantime, the volcano of dinosaurs in this video is really helping me fight the demons today.
Also, wine slushies.
If at first you don't succeed, alcohol.
I'm kidding. But it helps.