I’ve written this post more than once. I’ve saved it to different drafts on different devices and never in the same place. So, I’m not entirely sure where the original is at the moment but I hope that my words have the same weight they did when I first came up with the post.
First, I want to thank all of you for your patience with me. I haven’t seen a drop in followers but instead, I’ve been getting more. I don’t know what I did to deserve that, but thank you.
The past couple of months I’ve been struggling with depression. Mental illness is never easy to talk about especially when you have a hard time just describing it to yourself.
I had known for a while that I didn’t feel like myself, that I was losing interest in my hobbies, and I didn’t want to do anything or leave the house unless it was on my terms. I knew this wasn’t like me. I knew and yet, I didn’t make the appointment. I chalked it up to stress (work stress, life stress, etc) which, admittedly was a giant part of my depression. I figured I’d just get over it. That it would go away. *poof*
That’s not how depression works.
I ended up seeing my primary care physician who diagnosed me with moderate to severe depression. I started seeing a therapist once a week. I slowly started to feel better.
When I was in college, I briefly dated this guy who was depressed in high school. He stated on no uncertain terms that if you weren’t suicidal that you were lucky because that’s not true depression. He brushed off my pain because it wasn’t worth it.
Don’t worry guys, I dumped him.
Depression manifests itself in all different ways, for me, it ebbs and flows. I had undiagnosed depression for the past couple of years but it was never consistent or strong. This summer I had a slight mental breakdown where I felt like a failure. I lost my creativity. My desire to write and create was gone. The stress of my job weighed like a noose around my neck. I felt like I was drowning, that there was no way out of the situation I put myself in. I couldn’t breathe. I cried, a lot. I stop wanting to leave my house unless it was to get coffee or go to the bookstore.
I’m grateful that I didn’t stop having the desire to read. Books gave me hope. Books made me realize that I truly do want to write for a living and that something was seriously not okay with me if I had lost my creativity.
That’s when I decided it was time. And I’m so grateful because now, after some time taking care of myself, I’m nearly back to who I used to be.
Now I have a lot of catching up to do (with this blog, with writing, with experiences).
But I’m excited.
I can’t wait to start writing reviews again because I have read so many wonderful books in the past few months.
I’m not going to post as much as I once did. I’m going to give myself space to breathe.
But guys, I’m going to write.
Wish me luck!
Love to you all.