recovery

Here’s the thing about depression: it cycles. Even when I’m on medication, going to therapy and doing everything I’m able to do in order to stay healthy and keep it at bay, it bleeds in and out of my soul.

When someone denies my personality disorder, it makes the process of identifying and challenging the thoughts and behaviors that disorder causes even more difficult. There are broken parts of me that I can’t see. I’m working very hard to uncover them and heal them in a way that improves the quality of my inner and outer life. I don’t need anyone else muddying the waters of my trauma; I do that enough all on my own.

I don’t want to spend another summer waiting for winter. It took years to realize this, and even more years to act on it. This is the work of healing that no one mentions: you have to find the wounds you didn’t know you had.

For me, eating is like going to the dentist. I know I have see the dentist, but I don’t enjoy it. Eating three meals a day is like going to the dentist three times a day. For other people, a good meal is something to look forward to, and eating is a pleasure. For me, it’s work, it’s anxiety-inducing, and it’s not even sort of enjoyable.

“You have nine new messages.”

Upset you lost your keys? Try losing your breast. Pissed off about missing that train? Try missing your son’s 8th grade graduation because of a horrific infection from fluid buildup in the previously-mentioned missing breast. See what I mean? It kind of puts life into perspective.

Most days I am confident with how I look and how I feel, but I worry I may never be able to completely banish those thoughts about my flaws and imperfections. I know that every time you catch me focusing on my physical insecurities, you learn a lesson that could hurt you, or force you into this battle I face.

She’s made all the mistakes, so you don’t have to…Ask Erin is a weekly advice column, in which Erin answers your burning questions about anything at all.