You understand depression better than:

January 4, 2013

I push the hair out of my face and the memory out of my mind. Neither works. The hair falls back into my eyes and I fall back into the memory.
        Jacob's red face, the words pouring out of his mouth. "You can't tell me you need me. You don't really need me. And I don't need you in my life. You aren't important enough. You can overcome the depression by yourself. Just be more positive. It's getting bad because you're letting it. You can decide to overcome it. I can't help you anymore."

Months later, and it still frikkin' hurts.

        It’s already been a hard and confusing day, with Jacob ignoring me and Tim doing everything but that. Depression has been heavy today and although I’m getting better at handling it, today I've just pushed everyone away.

I ditch guitar but decide to stick it out for swim practice. My priorities, like my head, are all over the place.

After practice, I make it back out to my car, and it’s a relief to drop the forced smile and turn on the music. I take a very roundabout way home, windows down, music up, just unwinding.

I walk in my front door to find the table all set for dinner. I must’ve been driving for longer than I thought.

“You’re a little late,” Mom comments.

“I took a short drive.”

She purses her lips but says nothing else. We sit down to eat and Dad launches into a bike riding story and I can’t even work up an appetite, even after swim. This is so frustrating.

“So how was your day, honey?” My mother puts her hand on my arm, pulling me from my thoughts.

“It was okay.” I know better than to hesitate.

“What was your favorite part?”

She’s been using this question on me since the 1^st grade. Whenever I don’t provide adequate information, whenever I’m feeling quiet, whenever she can tell I’ve had a bad day.

It often gets me talking. But today, I am so down and upset with everything and frustrated with myself. If I’m being honest, there was no favorite part of my day.. except maybe the part I was asleep for.

I know I’ve hesitated for too long when she sighs.

“Come on, sweetie. You’ve gotta look for the positive in order to get over this.”

Sweetie? Positive thinking? Over this?? She sounds so much like Jacob that it aches.

You’d think after a year of this that she’d understand a little more. Of course positive thinking helps. But it’s insensible for anyone who understands mental illness to suggest it can be solved by positive thinking. And there is no over this, there is somewhat less awful than it is now.

What am I doing still sitting here? I’m not hungry and this conversation is not helping.

“I’m sorry, but I need to be excused.”

Without waiting for an answer, I rise from my chair and pat her shoulder as I leave the kitchen, a feeble attempt to convey to her that it’s not her fault that I’m grumpy and difficult.

I grab my notebook and Pride and Prejudice and am half-way up the stairs when my phone buzzes.

“Hey! How was your day?”

You receive a different answer than my parents. I just pour my heart out to you and I know I sound whiney and dumb, but you skip over that. You provide empathy and validation with just the right words to make me feel just the slightest bit less awful. Jeez. This. This is why I fell in love with you.

“I guess I’m just exhausted and difficult and I want today to be over.”

It takes youless than two minutes to respond.

“I’m sorry, love. Time for bed maybe?”

My tummy erupts in butterflies that I haven’t felt since.. well since the last time you called me love. I feel vulnerable in the most taken care of kind of way. No one else has made me feel like this.

“Yeah..”

        But we end up texting for the next hour before I climb into bed and fall into sleep.