Maybe its genetics
Many think I associate too much with my depression. That I hand on to it like a mother; too afraid of letting he child go. How do I explain to people that I am not holding on, but simply acknowledging the struggles I have had to endure.
I remember a few weeks ago I was sitting in a session with my psychologist, and I listened as she insinuated I held on to my depression as a means to gain attention. I now she didn’t say it to hurt or offend me, but that did not prevent me from becoming guarded.
I often walk around wondering why I simply cannot shake the feeling of “sadness” on some days. Some days I am crippled with fear, afraid that soon the dreaded dream-sucker that is depression will come and steal my happiness once again.
I have given up, with a lot of tears and heartache, on the idea of having children put of fear of passing on this gene, this feeling. I would not be able to live with myself if I gave someone help the darkness I had to endure most of my life.
Many people can write about depression, but few people can truly understand what life is like when having to work through it. It goes beyond willpower and positive thinking (although that is part of it). I often laugh when I receive articles of failure to control ones mind, written by people who only know the disease by the definition presented in Google.