Last night was good. I had a glimpse of who she used to be. She wanted company because she was lonely. She wanted my help going through her makeup. She wanted me.
With this disease, I know she needs me. It’s a horrible thing, depression. To feel alone and unwanted. To feel like the world wants to devour you and leave no trace. To feel like you should help it along.
Depression is more than just feeling sad. We have a family member who says she’s been depressed before. She’s depressed right now because her dog got out of the house. She’s doing better though because she’s sure he’s getting care wherever he is. This isn’t the same thing. Being sad and depressed are different. Often with depression, you can’t put your finger on why you feel that way. You know that it isn’t that bad logically. It just feels that way.
I need to be there for my little girl. I’m going to be there when she’s getting awards I’m going to be there when the world seems to be attacking her on all sides. I’m going to be there when she has band concerts. I’m going to be there when she’s lonely and just wants some company. I’m going to be there.
Sometimes loving someone with a mental illness can be just as devastating as having it. You watch them battle demons that are often ignored, minimized by others, ones that can’t be seen. You see them cry as their world crumbles, refusing to get out of bed to eat or bathe. You are present as time and time again they are told to just be happy, wear bright colors, get exercise, eat better, get over it.
And you hurt with them. Their pain is yours. You get told to take care of yourself first so you can continue to care for them. I’m still learning that one. I’m not sure I ever will.