I’m seeing my doctor for an antidepressant tomorrow morning.
I’ve had depression since I was 10. Any period of time where I felt happy or safe was always temporary. With some therapy I made it past some of the hardest years of my life, and when I realized I was going to keep living, I decided I didn’t need treatment. I never asked for meds, and I didn’t look for therapy after I aged out of the program I was in.
I didn’t have friends or family that supported me, or even offered to talk. I understand now that none of them would have known what to say.
I wasn’t living. I thought that surviving was the point, and for a while it was. I survived some things that I don’t wish on anyone, but now I want to live.
I want to get up in the morning. I want to spend time going to coffee shops and farmers markets and travelling. I want to romanticize my life, not just drag myself through it.
I don’t know how tomorrow will go. I don’t know if I’ll have to try ten different meds before something works but I want to try.
I spent 30 years scraping by, hoping tomorrow comes and goes quickly.
I want to live again.