“Snap out of it!”
“You have no reason to be depressed.”
“We don’t talk about those things to other people.”
Those were the mantras of my life before I finally chose to visit a psychiatrist on my own as an adult. It’s still hard for the family to understand and accept, but now I have help. I take medicine daily to fight depression; and while I’m not exactly “perky,” I don’t dwell on my despair daily any more. But I still have those phrases rolling around in the back of my mind telling me it’s my fault that I don’t feel good. That I could just decide to feel different and I would. That somehow it’s my own failure to be happy that’s the problem. . . .