Facing Reality (Or: When Reality is Kicking Your Ass)

Fracture
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I’ve always been the “Silver Linings” girl.

Well, maybe not always. I did have a rough time as a tween/teen.

Still, since adulthood I’ve tried to always keep on the bright side, to put a positive spin on things, to see the good in people and  believe in their best when they might not be showing you their good side. It hasn’t always been easy, but I’ve tried – and mostly succeeded.

There’s been times I’ve been down pretty deep in the doldrums, times where it lingered. Somehow I’ve always pulled myself out. I’d hesitate to call it anything like depression because I’ve seen depression, I’ve seen what pain others feel, and I was never that deep, never that lost.

This year has been rough. I’ve said it many times. It’s knocked me down over and again, every time I’ve tried to pick myself up.

I thought it was just the bad times knocking me down.

Those were the reason I couldn’t pick myself back up so easily.

Those nasty, horrible events were the reason I couldn’t drum out the doldrums as I always had before.

They were the reason the good times didn’t have the luster they usually did.

In the past couple of weeks I’ve had to be honest with myself.

I’ve had to be honest with my husband.

And I forced myself to be honest with my doctor.

I am depressed.

I can’t do this on my own.

I’ve been trying to claw my way back out for months all on my own.

All it’s done is left me nasty, bitter, and angry on top of depressed.

I was always worried I’d insult those with severe depression by admitting mine. However, my bipolar husband thinks I’m being ridiculous by thinking that. As he put it, “Would you not admit you were sick because someone else has cancer?”  Sometimes, he’s pretty damn spot on.

So here I am. Being honest with you all, as I’m attempting to be honest with myself.

I am surrounded by my family, but I feel alone.

I am surrounded by joy, but I feel removed from it.

I feel like I’ve tried to reach out, but no one reaches back.

I’m tired of not going out, because I don’t see the point…and because I’m afraid no one will care either way if I’m there anyway.

I feel like the bad is winning. That we will never be in a good place again, personally, financially, physically.

I’ve begun to seek help, but I think it’s going to be a long row to hoe.

And I’m so tired of feeling alone.

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