So come with me where dreams are born

I haven't sat down and written about my feelings in quite some time.  I suppose it's due to the fact that once a week I'm managing to talk about them for an hour with my psychiatrist and I'm simply too exhausted to linger on them any further.

But I need to do more to get better.  There was a time when I could do lots of things that I took for granted, if I work hard enough I can do them again.  Simple little things.  I'm not talking about saving the world or solving equations.  I'm talking about getting out of bed without being asked to.  Making myself look presentable and smile at myself in the mirror.  Even to just concentrate on the book that I'm reading.  I can do these things.  And I will.

My struggle with clinical depression started when I was about fifteen.  I won't go in to all of that now because I have no desire to think of it.  It's difficult at that age though to diagnose anything because you have a load of hormones flying around and it's so much easier to blame everything on the changes to your body as you grow up rather than admitting that your body has a chemical imbalance.  That's all depression is, I've learnt, it's not a sign of weakness or a cry for attention; it's just where your body stops producing enough dopamine and serotonin for you to be able to function properly.  Sometimes it's from genetics.  Other times it's from your environment and other times people just have no idea.  

The medication is a major help to you.  Personally, I found that it brought a sense of structure back to my life.  I stopped being so forgetful for example.  There's a stigma that medication for mental illness is the worst thing ever and it takes away who you are as a person.  If that's the case for you then you're probably on the wrong medication/wrong dose.  

Until recently, I've been ashamed of saying that I have some little beings in my head causing havoc.  We do live in a society that either loves or loathes mental illness.  It's as if half the world are running away in fear from what they see to be axe-wielding psychopaths and the other half are diagnosing themselves on Google because it's the hip thing to do.  I've come across my fair share of the latter, but have been terrified of coming across the former.  People who would judge.  People who'd say things like, 'Pick yourself up and move on.'  Now, however, I don't care.  I don't want to live a life that is determined by what other people think of me.  You could be reading this right now thinking that I am a freak or whatever, and I'm fine with that so long as you say it to my face.

Over the next couple of days I'm going to think of some goals for myself.  Little things.  Sure I want to go and build wells in Africa, but at the moment I need to be selfish.  I'm learning that sometimes that's ok.

For too long I've been scared.  It's going to be hard but I'm going to beat this illness.  I'm going to push myself to get better and raise up those chemical levels; and when I do I'm going to come off those tablets and not think about that little black dog anymore.  Sure, he might come along again in a few years as they often do, but I'll be ready.