Your move chief

I sent a text message after learning about the death of Robin Williams. It was simply “Love you” to a friend who has been battling depression. It is a battle. I have been in the fight for as long as I can remember. It was at its worst in college. There were many days when I didn’t get out of bed. There were many more when I would cry uncontrollably. It was the ugly, Sally Field cry. My heart and mind would race. I loved when people would ask, What’s wrong? If I knew what was wrong a**hole I would have fixed the problem. My boyfriend, at the time, couldn’t understand. So, he went to Applebee’s for half-price munchies and a side of vagina. He found himself a perky waitress. They lived happily ever after. I found Zoloft, but we have had a rocky relationship. I run for the natural endorphins. Don’t get me wrong, I also exercise because my arm keeps waving long after I have stopped. I am better, but it’s work. Sure, I am still a raging b**ch once a month. Some would argue it is more than once. I also suffered from severe postpartum depression after the births of my children.

My friend was surprised to learn that I still struggle with depression at times.

“You seem to be happy when I see you and very confident.”

It’s not something you brag about. I won’t be live tweeting a depressive episode.

“Crying for no apparent reason today #YOLO”

It can be embarrassing. We live in a world where people love bumper stickers and participating in charity walks, but look down on people who suffer from this disease.

If you watched the news last night you heard countless celebrities express their shock and disbelief. On camera, Robin Williams seemed happy. Sure, he battled drug and alcohol addiction in his life, but he was funny. Funny people can’t be sad. Yes, they can. Depression is an invisible monster that climbs on your back. Often, nobody knows you are carrying it around. You have to fight it off. You have to get your a** out of bed. You have to talk to someone. You have to get help.


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