For the most part, I'm open and honest here and don't shy away from posting about my struggles with depression and anxiety even if it does send my pulse racing before I click "Publish Post" and wince, waiting for the lashings.
The lashings never come.
Instead I get outpourings of support and love. Support from people that understand what I'm talking about and that maybe struggle too. Support from people that love me regardless of any disease I may have.
Yes, disease. It is a disease.
And being no different than a Diabetic treating their disease with insulin, I treat my depression and anxiety with medication too. Something in my brain isn't producing the right chemicals and I'm fixing that.
But somehow I'm viewed as the crazy one - the one with a - shhhh! - mental illness.
A friend asked this weekend why there is such a stigma attached to it. I had no answer. Why, she asked, is it such a big hushed-up secret as if you'd die should anyone find out you're on an anti-depressant. I still had no answer. Isn't it easier to justify if it's Post-Partum Depression and not just regular depression? Again, no answer.
Today I read a blog post that nearly brought me to tears. Struggling for some time, she didn't want to take her meds because of weight gain and honing her fine skills of convincing herself she's just fine.
Like somehow breaking down and taking these stupid little pills makes her any less of a person - a mom, a wife, a woman, whatever. Like somehow treating her disease would be viewed as socially inappropriate.
Been there, done that, got over it.
I just wish everyone else would too so that those of us struggling wouldn't constantly feel like we're climbing up a hill filled with your disdain and dirty looks.