"sleepless nights
taught me to fake it. keep pushing. let go. iron eyes will never be pretty, but at least they aren't crying."
I wrote that sentence when I was 17 years old. I thought I knew a lot about love, or more specifically, what love wasn't. And I guess that's true, I did know a lot about what love wasn't.
I didn't want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Of knowing how deeply I was broken and shattered and that I was actually not okay, just excellent at going through the motions and lying while looking you in the eye. Looking back, maybe if I had shown those around me how defective I was, someone could have convinced me to start taking that little white pill every morning a lot sooner. And maybe that would have been a good thing, but would I still be my own hero? Would I still know how strong I am capable of being, and how to piece myself back together when I am broken by another's hands?
I would never wish depression on anyone. It is such a consuming disease, and like many other things, you can't truly understand it unless you've lived through it. Just like I will never be able to understand a veteran's PTSD, or a mother's loss of a child in her arms, or watching someone you love lock your bedroom door and put a gun in their mouth. Comparing your story to someone else's isn't fair to you, or to them. Knowing that many around me "have it worse," doesn't negate the severe impact the disease has on my well-being...just like knowing that I am depressed doesn't make me any more of a victim than someone experiencing an incredible darkness in their own lives.
Depression is such a catch-22 because, your brain, the thing that is broken, is the thing that is supposed to remind you to take your pills every morning. How do you rely on something that is so fucked up to fix itself? The only way I can think of to describe it is an out-of-body experience. You have to remind yourself that you are sick, and these feelings are not your own, they belong to your disease. Some mornings I think it's not worth it to take my pill. And then I have to remind myself that, I am not allowed to make that decision. My brain is not allowed to make that decision for me, because it is the thing that I am trying to fix. Some days it feels unfixable. Like this is just how I am meant to be, and its not worth fighting anymore.
But then I look into my husband's eyes and see all of the things he doesn't say when he asks me if I'm okay. I see him trying to decide if he wants to fight me when I say "yes" even though we both know the answer is "no." I see him trying to navigate my thoughts and his overwhelming desire to just help me be okay, and not knowing what to do to make that happen. I see him wanting to be let in, and what I don't know how to tell him sometimes is that I am not even "let in" to my own head. We both are kept in the dark. And maybe thats one of those things that makes me sound crazy, because normal people don't experience it. And I don't want my husband to think I am crazy. I want to protect him from it.
So I take my pill as often as I can make myself. And maybe someday I won't need it. But one of the hardest realizations I've had to come to this year is that, right now, I do need it. As much as I don't want to need it, I do.
And that has to be okay. Because my life is worth more than what depression makes me feel. And if it takes a little white pill each morning to force me to remember that, then I have to take the pill. And I have to be okay.
As much as I knew what love wasn't 10 years ago, I know just as much about what love is now. I don't remember the first time I told my husband I loved him, but I know I knew the feeling was there long before I said the words out loud. I know that looking into his eyes was the first time I could truly imagine getting married and saying vows to someone. I know that the hurt I caused when I said no to his first attempt at a proposal is something I will never, ever forgive myself for. I know that watching his back rise and fall as he's sleeping next to me makes me overwhelmed with gratitude for the life he has given me. And I know that when I turn over right before I fall asleep, and he puts his arm around my waist and kisses the back of my neck, he makes me feel like I am exactly where I was always meant to be.
Love is a lot of things, and I am still learning new things daily, sometimes hourly. Like my 17 year old self, I still fuck up a lot. I still guard my emotions more than I should, and try to be okay when maybe I should just let myself break down. But the thing I've learned most about love is that being in love, real love, means that I don't have to have iron eyes anymore. Because love is putting yourself in the arms of another and trusting they won't break you, and that they will help stop you from breaking yourself. Love is being okay with your old parts that were broken by another's hands, and knowing that those broken parts fit together perfectly with your partners, and together, you make something greater than either of you could ever be on your own.
I am so thankful to be in love. And I wish that I could go back and tell 17-year-old me that I was right - those times weren't love. And at the end of the day, I am still here and it was worth that black, hopeless hell I was in for so long. I wish I could tell myself that I would survive all of those days when it felt like my walls were closing in and I couldn't see the sky, and even though the storm still comes in every once in a while, the clouds will clear enough for me to see the love that was waiting for me on the other side. And he is so worth it.
I wrote that sentence when I was 17 years old. I thought I knew a lot about love, or more specifically, what love wasn't. And I guess that's true, I did know a lot about what love wasn't.
I didn't want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Of knowing how deeply I was broken and shattered and that I was actually not okay, just excellent at going through the motions and lying while looking you in the eye. Looking back, maybe if I had shown those around me how defective I was, someone could have convinced me to start taking that little white pill every morning a lot sooner. And maybe that would have been a good thing, but would I still be my own hero? Would I still know how strong I am capable of being, and how to piece myself back together when I am broken by another's hands?
I would never wish depression on anyone. It is such a consuming disease, and like many other things, you can't truly understand it unless you've lived through it. Just like I will never be able to understand a veteran's PTSD, or a mother's loss of a child in her arms, or watching someone you love lock your bedroom door and put a gun in their mouth. Comparing your story to someone else's isn't fair to you, or to them. Knowing that many around me "have it worse," doesn't negate the severe impact the disease has on my well-being...just like knowing that I am depressed doesn't make me any more of a victim than someone experiencing an incredible darkness in their own lives.
Depression is such a catch-22 because, your brain, the thing that is broken, is the thing that is supposed to remind you to take your pills every morning. How do you rely on something that is so fucked up to fix itself? The only way I can think of to describe it is an out-of-body experience. You have to remind yourself that you are sick, and these feelings are not your own, they belong to your disease. Some mornings I think it's not worth it to take my pill. And then I have to remind myself that, I am not allowed to make that decision. My brain is not allowed to make that decision for me, because it is the thing that I am trying to fix. Some days it feels unfixable. Like this is just how I am meant to be, and its not worth fighting anymore.
But then I look into my husband's eyes and see all of the things he doesn't say when he asks me if I'm okay. I see him trying to decide if he wants to fight me when I say "yes" even though we both know the answer is "no." I see him trying to navigate my thoughts and his overwhelming desire to just help me be okay, and not knowing what to do to make that happen. I see him wanting to be let in, and what I don't know how to tell him sometimes is that I am not even "let in" to my own head. We both are kept in the dark. And maybe thats one of those things that makes me sound crazy, because normal people don't experience it. And I don't want my husband to think I am crazy. I want to protect him from it.
So I take my pill as often as I can make myself. And maybe someday I won't need it. But one of the hardest realizations I've had to come to this year is that, right now, I do need it. As much as I don't want to need it, I do.
And that has to be okay. Because my life is worth more than what depression makes me feel. And if it takes a little white pill each morning to force me to remember that, then I have to take the pill. And I have to be okay.
As much as I knew what love wasn't 10 years ago, I know just as much about what love is now. I don't remember the first time I told my husband I loved him, but I know I knew the feeling was there long before I said the words out loud. I know that looking into his eyes was the first time I could truly imagine getting married and saying vows to someone. I know that the hurt I caused when I said no to his first attempt at a proposal is something I will never, ever forgive myself for. I know that watching his back rise and fall as he's sleeping next to me makes me overwhelmed with gratitude for the life he has given me. And I know that when I turn over right before I fall asleep, and he puts his arm around my waist and kisses the back of my neck, he makes me feel like I am exactly where I was always meant to be.
Love is a lot of things, and I am still learning new things daily, sometimes hourly. Like my 17 year old self, I still fuck up a lot. I still guard my emotions more than I should, and try to be okay when maybe I should just let myself break down. But the thing I've learned most about love is that being in love, real love, means that I don't have to have iron eyes anymore. Because love is putting yourself in the arms of another and trusting they won't break you, and that they will help stop you from breaking yourself. Love is being okay with your old parts that were broken by another's hands, and knowing that those broken parts fit together perfectly with your partners, and together, you make something greater than either of you could ever be on your own.
I am so thankful to be in love. And I wish that I could go back and tell 17-year-old me that I was right - those times weren't love. And at the end of the day, I am still here and it was worth that black, hopeless hell I was in for so long. I wish I could tell myself that I would survive all of those days when it felt like my walls were closing in and I couldn't see the sky, and even though the storm still comes in every once in a while, the clouds will clear enough for me to see the love that was waiting for me on the other side. And he is so worth it.
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