Why I Hate Depression

The familiar feeling of numbness is back. What a strange phrase: feeling numb. There are a lot of things that make me feel better: working out, hanging out/drinking with my friends, eating food I know is bad for me, but those are short-lived reliefs.

What I hate the most, though, is how it effects my mother. I have this idea deep down that my depression makes her feel like a failure. It makes me feel guilty, but also just sad.

My mother is not a failure. She is strong and has taught me so much about life and how to be as a person. I talked to her about it last week–I told her I didn’t blame her in any way for my depression. I told her I think she sees how I am and she feels the need to fix me–how could she not, she’s my mother–and when she can’t I can see the hurt and disappointment. I can tell she feels responsible for the unhappy person before her, and that breaks my heart.

To make sure she knew I was telling the truth when I said I didn’t blame her for my depression, I told her that I’ll admit her and my father played a large role in the development of some of my other issues, but not this.

I know that recovering from this is something I have to do for myself, but I also want to do it for her. Because just as I deserve to be happy and the best version of myself, she deserves to feel successful as a mother. I want that for her.

Yes, it puts a little more pressure on me, but I’m okay with it. It’s vaguely positive pressure. Vaguely positive is as good as I can ask for at the moment.


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