Depression is a liar. Depression tells me that people who care don’t love me at all. It tells me I hate them for letting me down when in fact they really haven’t. I’m angry with people who love me and its fueled by depression. It’s a lie that it won’t matter if I’m dead, or it’ll be a relief because they can get on with their own problems instead of dealing with me all the time.
Depression tells me I’m worthless and stupid, that I can’t do the things I used to do, like paint. Depression sits on both shoulders like a little demon and whispers in my ears, “You’re worthless. You’re a burden. You’re better off dead.”
Depression is a liar. It tells me I’m a dirty slob unable to complete a single task because I’m incompetent. It tells me I’m insignificant and what I try to offer to the world is of little consequence. Depression is lying when it says I have no reason to continue, that I should quit.
I have a good number of friends who love me very much. I may not be able to touch that truth right now but it’s still truth. I have reasons to continue living. I have every reason to believe that this depression will lift and I’ll get back to my non-hormonal self. I can’t feel that truth right now. It feels so far away but it is the truth. This is going to pass in about a week. I don’t need to think about anything other than what this really is, hormonal fueled depression, perimenopause.
I’ve been mapping out days and scoring symptoms so that I can see the pattern and know about when I’m going to cycle into this depression. It started about a week early but the symptoms are right on point. There’s no mistaking what this is which tells me to wait it out, don’t give up and don’t listen to lies depression tells.