I refer to my depression as the dark. My dark place. It’s the only description that seems to do it any justice, because my mind can go to a very dark place.
Every time I come out of “the dark”, and I feel happiness or
hope again, I have the bad habit of feeling invincible. As if I have conquered my mental illness for the final time and I won’t ever have to go though it again. This is setting myself up for disaster, every time.
After my first post, I felt invincible. Being completely honest about who I am was something I had been wanting to do for a long time, although I didn’t always know that. Most of my adolescent years consisted of wanting to be perfect. To be liked by everyone. I really believed people would look down on me if they knew the truth, my truth. When I had the intense conversation with my Grandmother that I wrote about in my first post, it opened my eyes to a lot of things. One of them being how often I was secretly craving those around me to know my truth. I started looking back Continue reading