Grey Matters


My brain works a little bit differently because of this thing I have called depression. I don’t like talking about it much because people tend to treat you differently when the find out. Either they start treating you like your fragile and could break at the slightest provocation which is ridiculous. I haven’t shattered in at least a week and a half. Or, they decide it’s not a real problem because they can’t see it, or maybe they’ve dealt with worse and it makes me seem weak.

The fact is, sometimes I see myself as weak because I can still get out of bed and I have someone very close to me who dealt with this thing to the point where they couldn’t. Now that’s a real struggle. I just deal with nasty inner voices saying I’m worthless. Who cares? Except, that’s not what it’s about.

There are chemical imbalances going on that make my brain not work correctly.

So sometimes there will be a guy that I really like, but because my brain doesn’t have the right chemical stuff going on, instead of feeling all tingly every time I see him, it actually makes me feel disgusting and repulsive. I start to convince myself that I could never be anything more than a joke to him, so even if he does start acting like he reciprocates, my brain tells me it’s all in my head, that he could never see me that way. Then I give up.

Or, when there’s a new job prospect and I have to apply, sometimes I don’t. Especially if it’s one that I want really bad. Not because I’m lazy. I’ll sit and pour over my resume for hours and stare at the listing until my eyes burn. I’ll write and rewrite my cover letter. But I don’t apply because I’ll convince myself that there’s no point. That they’ll never hire me so why even bother.

I love talking to my friends, as most people do. That’s why they’re friends, right? Except after my conversations with my friends, I’ll think back through it and pick apart every word that came out of my mouth and convince myself that all I did was annoy them. That the 2 hour conversation we had was nothing more than them not knowing how to get me to shut up. Then every single time I want to talk to them, I realize it’s always me going to them and I stop.

Do you notice a pattern here? I give up, I stop, I don’t even try. That’s my real battle – making myself move even when I’m terrified.

I’m not telling you all this so you’ll think I’m crazy. If you know me, that cat is already out of the bag. I’m writing this because I want you to understand. I want you to understand people like me. I want you to know that I’m a little messy and broken and it’s okay, you just have to bare with me for a second sometimes. I want people like me to know that we’re not alone; that someone else understands the battle going on behind your eyes and I’m proud of you for fighting back.