lisablindsNo one in depression should ever be told to just get over it. What most people don’t know is that there is more than one way to say, “Just get over it.”

Sometimes it sounds like other things. Well-meant things.

“Well, if you’ll just pray about it, you’ll be fine.”
“Just go get meds.”
“Stop thinking about your past!”
“Counseling will bring you back to your real self.”
“Pour it all into your journal and let it go.”

I’m not knocking all aspects of these suggestions, necessarily, but I do wish people could understand what I discovered when I went through clinical depression 14 years ago:
Depression isn’t all in your head.

I also discovered that the best advice I can give someone in depression is to find what helps him/her specifically, and do it.

All that said, while I didn’t write myself out of depression, I did find great comfort in wording my heart, my questions, my confusion.

RAINING

it’s raining outside and inside me 
the siren is crying like I wish I could 
and my joys are out there in the rain 
drowning like I sometimes do 
there’s a steady screeching from another room 
relentless, though it fades now and then 
pitched in such a way 
that I cringe at the sound 
but I guess it’s all part of it somehow 
almost like helplessness 
almost like sorrow but not quite 
music from somewhere tries to soothe 
and I wish it could 
I wish it could 
I reach a limp hand toward something, anything 
in a poor attempt at gaining strength 
God, it’s raining 
if only I could lie my head on my pillow 
and rest from the pressing in 
the expectations 
they’re counting on me 
I could never let them down 
the tree outside my window looms over my world 
not bringing me fear but comfort 
its giant branches poised willow-like 
to hold me 
and though it bends in the wind of this storm 
it is strong enough for both of us 
why does music search my soul thus? 
would that I could escape such knowing 
the cello and dulcimer see inside this heart 
if only the pain would float away with the notes 
and the rain could wash away the worry 
I need to be alone 
listen to the music 
listen to the rain 
rest under my tree 
feel almost free 
it’s raining

Writing didn’t cure me. Attention to my health from all angles (physical, mental, spiritual, emotional) is what pulled me through the deepest, darkest time of my life and let me live to tell about it. Writing helped me to process what was happening in my head and heart so I could understand it better and share it with you.

And now? I continue to word my story so others will have the courage to word theirs.

 

 

__________________
Featured at Write Where It Hurts

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