I have gained lots of strength recently. I can stand; I can even take a few steps. My life as a person who can move has begun again. The problem is that I am tired, tired all of the time. I keep thinking that I need to write something positive on this blog. I keep thinking that people will stop reading because I am so negative, so depressed. But I am what I am. I don’t know what to do about that; I don’t know how to change it. I just know how to share it. So here it is; here it is on a platter. I am sharing the truth: I am depressed.
This season is a beautiful one: the birds, the new grass, the blossoms, everything green. I just want to sleep, though. I am resisting it, but I just want to sleep. I remember my mother this way: all my life she sat in a chair – usually a recliner – looking out into a world she could not face. I resented her because she made my life miserable. She screamed at me; she sat in that chair and screamed at my sister and me. My father beat us at the slightest indiscretion. My mother sat in that chair and yelled at us. She ignored my father, chose my stepfather over me, and screamed at my sister and me.
My sister knew how to hide her sadness. Me, I just ate. I ate my way through the sadness. It was a bad choice, a very bad choice. No matter how hard I tried I could hide my sadness. It presented itself in rolls of fat on my belly. Me, I just ate. I ate my way out of (or maybe into) the sadness. It was a bad choice. I was fat.
I am told that no one will read this blog if it is too sad. I guess no one will read the blog; I am sad. I am not asking for help; I don’t need it. I just need to be sad for a while. I just need to let it happen, to not interfere, to let it happen. It’s okay to be sad and to just let it happen. Depression is not okay, but sadness is.
I know that there are people for whom depression is a way of life. They need help; they need medication, but that is not what’s happening to me. What’s happening to me is that I am understanding what happened to me. My stepfather was an awful man. He raped me; he was an awful man. I can’t let that go. I know that’s the right thing to do – let it go. The fact is, though, I simply can’t let it go.