Battling the Blues

Anxiety and depression have been a part of my life since my mother became ill. It was exacerbated by her death and the countless other things that surface when you’re thrust into adulthood. The older I get, the more I tussle with insurmountable tasks like combing my hair and getting out of bed.

Depression and anxiety lie to me. They tell me that tragedy lurks around the corner of my happiness. That I can’t accomplish my goals because I just don’t have what it takes to see things through. “You’re going to do well, then have one bad day and fall into a spiral that will destroy all of your hard work,” is what they whisper to me. And when I face obstacles that I feel I should have left behind, I believe them. It takes a long time to remember that they are, as I said before, liars — and thieves.

Anxiety and depression steal time, if for no other reason than because they can. The part of my brain that knows all the good I hold in me temporarily shuts down and I feel almost paralyzed by my rumored incompetence. Then they take more time when I curse myself for forgetting that I had the tools all along. My depression is not unbearable but as I get older, it gets more tiresome. I have to navigate myself out of my spirals, while remembering not to self-flagellate for being depressed in the first place.

This year I had to navigate my depression and anxiety without the benefit of health insurance. I’m certain I don’t have to tell you how difficult that is; particularly in light of the fact that I have had an especially difficult year.