Broken

Some days, I feel broken. I cry, I huddle down, I feel worthless and unlovable. I want to crawl under a rock and stay there, forever. I doubt anyone would notice I was even gone.

Before, when I hit a dark spot, it was a nuisance. I was a burden, in the way. I should have just sucked it, forced myself to get happy, and quit bringing everyone else down. I learned to cry in silence, late at night, when no one could hear me. I found excuses for why I couldn’t get off the couch, why I needed to stare at the computer for hours, why I wasn’t all there emotionally.

Thursday evening, after dinner, I had a drop. I cried, I ran through the mental list of flaws, I felt worthless. I wanted to be alone.

Instead, a friend called, over and over again until I finally picked up. Sent me notes online. Sang silly songs over the phone until I was giggling. Sang romantic songs til I could smile.

I wonder how much of my depression is chemical, and how much is situational. If, years ago, someone would have sang silly songs to me until I was laughing, would I have been so depressed for so long? How much, for me, was my sadness caused by not being able to express my sadness? By feeling guilty for being sad?

I’m still broken. In little ways, in habits that don’t go away, in parts of my brain that needs medication to function better. But maybe being broken doesn’t mean worthless, doesn’t mean unfix-able. Maybe, broken is actually kind of normal.

Tags: depression, sadness

Summer is a freelance writer and mother of 3, searching for herself amongst the Legos and blocks. After moving a couple hundred miles away from home, and fighting a few dragons, she's figuring out that she needs to be her own biggest fan to get through the world.


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