I’m broken. I was diagnosed with depression a couple of
weeks back. Me: the person that never quits.
This feels like breaking. I broke my ankle when I was 15 and
I remember the absolute shock that my body could break… Up to that point I haven’t
considered that our bodies are amazingly made, but when you push too hard: it
breaks.
Hearts. Ankles. Hair. Minds: we are so incredibly breakable.
Laying in the bath last night, crying, again, like I did for
three months this year I realized that even with therapy, yoga, healthier
eating habits, a wonderful mother and loads of prayers I’m still broken.
I remember the day my therapist asked me if I’ve ever
considered suicide. The answer was a very clear no.
This changed yesterday: I considered suicide, for a moment.
I was at the receiving end of an outburst, from my superior, that happens ever
so often. I remember looking out the
window thinking, what would happen if I wasn’t here anymore…
It was brief, but it happened.
My logical mind jumped to who was going to clean your
apartment?
I week ago I would’ve classified as healing.
Glass half full stuff, because I was feeling better.
This week its glass half empty stuff: broken.
