One small step for man

Today was a good day. It did contain lots of crying, it did contain lots of fear, and it did contain lots of gloominess, but it was a good day. I write this from the comfiest, warmest bed ever to grace the planet, situated in my old room at my mum’s house, in a different branch of ‘the middle of nowhere’ than usual.

My mum’s husband does not understand brains. Not even close. He cannot conceive the idea that someone’s brain can malfunction, and therefore has no clue how to deal with it. Following my post on crap superpowers, I entered the dangerous territory of not wishing to continue being alive. I cried so hard I nearly made myself sick (I was that depressed the fear of sick seemed to evaporate) and my partner made me call my mum to take me home for a few days. When my mum told her husband that she was picking me up, he simply said “she’s not very well, is she?”. This may not seem a lot to someone who doesn’t know him, but this is absolutely massive. This is like the moon landing. This is like the end of smallpox.

My mum lives with depression, too. Someone who lives with depression marrying someone who does not believe it is a real thing is a bit of a mad concept, he can tell there is something different about mum at certain times of year, but he has no understanding of it beyond “must take her to somewhere sunny or she will cry at me for three months”. Today he acknowledged it to be an illness. Today he acknowledged that I am trying really, really hard but I am ill. My brain is ill. And today I acknowledged that, too.

I am impatient with myself and I do not look after myself, but if I am going to shake this illness then I need to relax, rest, and be selfish for a little while. I need to start being nice to myself.

Today was a good day, because I was able to talk to other depressed people about how to live under a raincloud, and it gave me hope that soon I might find an umbrella.

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