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It's been a little over a year since I found this place and poured my heart out over and over, and listened to others doing the same thing.  Funny how depression sounds the same no matter who's going through it.

I got up this morning, late as usual.  Fumbled through the morning, taking my bath, getting dressed, etc.  All the things that are second nature to most people, but for me, sometimes excruciatingly painful.  Realizing that I'm already behind, noting the dirty dishes that still have to be washed, the bed that needs to be made. Hearing the voice in my head that says I'm a terrible person, never feeling a relief from the constant negative talk.  It's hard to explain if you've never been through it.

I'm beginning now to realize how extremely brave and courageous I am.  I used to see my friends and acquaitenaces--those with so much energy and strength.  Those with good jobs and families and plenty of energy left over to live a joyful life.  I was always struggling after them, trying to catch up, feeling that I would never be one of them.  I guess I never will be.

But depression is hard.  It's a mighty disease that is not for the faint of heart.  I've had big bouts of it all my life, and in between the big bouts, just the low lying numbness that is in many ways worse than the major attacks. 

Now, when I get out of bed, take my shower, and get my clothes on, I congratulate myself.  Sure, most people find this easy, but in many ways, it's like someone with no eyes and one arm getting dressed.  I'm accomplishing something wonderful just by dressing.  When I get the bed made and the dishes washed, it's a miracle.  Each step during the day is something I deserve a medal for. 

The fact that I can think this way thorugh all the negative talk in my head is a miracle.  Not a cure, but a miracle that another voice is finally coming out.  To all of you struggling with this disease, my hats off to you.  I honor and love all of you who have been brave enough to write down your thoughts and your struggles, and let me know I'm not alone.

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When I get the bed made and the dishes washed, it's a miracle.  Each step during the day is something I deserve a medal for.

The fact that I can think this way thorugh all the negative talk in my head is a miracle.  Not a cure, but a miracle that another voice is finally coming out.  To all of you struggling with this disease, my hats off to you.  I honor and love all of you who have been brave enough to write down your thoughts and your struggles, and let me know I'm not alone. 

Amen, Cyndy.
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Cyndy:

When I was in the hospital, we had a "goals group" meeting every morning where we named 1 goal for the day. For some people, it was simply to shower and get dressed---or comb their hair---and achieving those goals was celebrated at the end of the day.

Good for you for changing your thinking!

Diane B

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