I’m not depressed. I can get up in the morning. I shower. I get dressed. I eat. I sleep….well, sometimes i sleep. I don’t have a ” foreboding sense of doom”. I don’t feel like I need to stay in bed all day. I’m not suicidal.
But; sometimes I want to die.
I have suffered from depression on an off throughout my life. I’ve been treated for depression. I’ve even been suicidal.
But; I’m not depressed.
I’m not suicidal.
Sometimes I just want to die.
Grief is different than depression. And I can see how quickly it can turn to depression. Who knows: mine just might if I don’t stop forgetting to take my meds. Or, maybe my meds are why I’m not suffering from depression now.
Grief is different. Or at least mine is: I can’t speak for others. It comes in waves. I’ve had people comment that I am grieving well: whatever that is supposed to mean. Of course, my neurodivergent brain ( I have ADHD) will run rampant with rumination on those words, for hours and even days. I grieve well? What should grief look like to an onlooker? Should I be disheveled? Should I have greasy hair and pillow creases on my face from lying in bed for days? Should I have sunken eyes and have to be gently reminded that I need to shower? I’m really not sure how I am supposed to look.
Sometimes I worry that if I’m “grieving well” it means that I couldn’t have loved my son as much as I was supposed to. I worry that I wasn’t a good enough mother. But I know that is not what they mean. I still wonder if I am wrong . Should I be depressed?
The logical me knows that’s not true. I love my son beyond measure. My heart is beyond shattered and the thought of moving on with life without him, is incomprehensible. Most people don’t see me laying on the bathroom floor hugging my dog tight as I bury my face into his fur and bawl my eyes out. No one saw me crying in the shower this morning when I was getting ready for work. People dont see me or hear my heart wrenching sobs when I’m driving my car or walking deep in the woods with my dogs, where I think no one will hear me. Sometimes, I feel like grief is going to suffocate me.
I’m not depressed. I’m grieving. I’m not suicidal but I want to be dead more often than I care to admit to. I want to die, but I don’t want to kill myself.
My grief is not a mental illness. It’s a profound sadness that sometimes will let me walk amongst my peers undetected. It let’s me smile, and it let’s me laugh. It allows me to shower, and dress and carry on a conversation. It actually fools others into thinking I’m doing well. It even fools me: until it gets me alone and then it unleashes its power that sometimes feels, like it will destroy me. It’s in those moments when I want to die. It’s those moments, that I’m not grieving well at all.
I’m really not sure what people expect to see when they see me. Maybe that is the problem: I worry too much that I will make them uncomfortable, when I am the one who is uncomfortable. I need to let them, let me grieve.
Grief, is not the same thing as depression. But they can both make you want to die.