Freak

Twenty-five years ago, I realized that something was wrong with me. Twenty-one years ago, I was finally diagnosed. Back then it was still something that was kept as a dirty little secret by many. I tried and fought to remove the stigma of depression and yet didn't want to be so "out there" that people would start to stigmatize me.

It was if I were saying "there's nothing wrong with it" and then saying "not that I'd know."

I believed for years that I was the odd one, the freak of the family, even though I was doing something about it.

In the last few years, other extended family members have come forward and been more open about the fact that they too deal with depression on a regular basis and that they are being treated for it.

I really wish I'd known sooner. I might have felt like I had more support if I'd known that I wasn't the freak of the family, but actually quite normal in relation to other relatives.

On another thought, I had quite the interesting insight today. I was talking to a doctor who is helping me adjust my medication. I was mentioning that I needed to request some FMLA time so that if I had to miss work it would not count against me. I told her that I felt that my reasons for needing the leave I thought were silly, that it was a lame reason for needing leave, etc. But I realized that I wasn't diminishing the reason for the leave, I was actually diminishing myself. It was as if I was trying to convince myself that I didn't need to take care of myself and that my needs didn't matter because I didn't matter. When I finished that sentence and realized what a lie it was, I also realized the importance of being good to myself and recognizing that if I needed time I would have to make the arrangements to do so, because I did matter and my health matters.