Depression is a depressing word

I actually can’t stand the word depression because it is so all-encompassing and veils thickly the human spirit’s endeavours, reducing it to a word bandied about left right and centre

It  belittles the experience that a person goes through because it carries the weight of connotation.

It is an umbrella term however for the cloud of heavy somnolence or active restless anxiety that can plague a person and from which escape can seem impossible.

I want to come to terms on my terms with the giant Depression and all of its unpleasant relatives. I want to roll up my sleeves and invite it to come into the light so I can see what it really looks like.

It is this journey that I would like to write about frequently and frankly and honestly.

So far I have run kicking and screaming from what feel like rolling clawing monsters on my back because my threshold for mental anguish may be low. To quieten the kicking and screaming, over the past decade I’ve taken various prescription mind control drugs and in the last few months I’ve become aware that they are simply not working. I’ve tried alcohol. That hasn’t worked. I now feel like a puppet with no strings, I feel naked and unprotected without a little pill to pop to batten down the mental hatches and shut out the noise but I have nothing to lose in trying to meet the darkness.

Perhaps in the unveiling of my own demons, if I can unearth their secrets and tactics, I can become better equipped to help others to see theirs clearly and for what they truly are.


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