Here on my blog, I’ve written about the topic of mental health many times and, in particular, my struggles with depression. Today, however, I’m not going to talk about my depression; I’m going to talk to my depression. If I could tell my depression one thing and have it hear me, it would be this, you suck! I chose to use the word suck in particular because it’s so appropriate. Those of you who have suffered from depression knows that it’s the biggest joy sucker in existence it sucks all the purpose and enjoyment and happiness out of your life.

I know that you are there all the time because I have dysthymia, so your effect is always there, always present. Then you decide periodically to turn it up a few notches and add regular depression on top. DOUBLE depression? Well, that’s just great! 

Even when I don’t have double depression, I feel like I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for you to jump out of your hole and drag me in with you.

Your Nickname

One thing that I absolutely despise is how you’ve come to be known as “walking with the black dog.” I hate this for several reasons. Firstly I love dogs, including black ones. One of the few things that still give me joy in life is playing with a happy dog. Believe me, nothing about you brings joy, so comparing you to a dog is not only inaccurate but bloody unfair to dogs! If I had my way, I would call you something far more descriptive. Here are a few things that I came up with:

• Walking under the black cloud 
• Trudging through the grey (I always feel like I’m wandering through the featureless grey landscape when I’m very depressed. It feels like I’m the only real person and everyone around me is a ghost that I can’t reach.)
• Fighting the depression demon – because you ARE a demon!

Any one of these seems far more accurate and descriptive than walking with the black dog. I don’t believe we should give you a cute name because there is nothing cute or happy or fun about you. I want nothing more than for you to go away and never come back. Believe me, I have never met a dog that I felt that way about. 

Unfair!

As well as changing your name, if you were an entity that I could speak to, I would want to ask you one key question. Why me? Did you maybe feel I haven’t suffered enough? That growing up with two chronically depressed parents wasn’t quite sufficient? That my stepfather’s rages or my mother’s tears or their screaming rows were something every child should expect to have to suffer through? Did you think that being bullied at school built character and was therefore good for me? Do you believe that all the self-doubt and lack of confidence your presence infused me with was perfectly natural? Let me tell you, buster, it isn’t!

I am aware that life isn’t fair and that many people out there have it far worse than me. The whole population of Ukraine, in fact. That does not let you off the hook, though! Since I was fifteen, you have been a total dick to me, and I am goddamned sick of it. If you were a friend, partner or family member, I would’ve cut you out of my life decades ago when I realised who toxic you are. I only wish it were that simple. But, so far, no amount of medication, exercise, therapy, or positive thinking has made you go away for long.

I Don’t Care What You Are

No, seriously, I don’t. You might be a hormonal imbalance, a product of my upbringing, or a genetic predisposition. I don’t care what brought you to me or what has caused you to stay so long. The ONLY thing I care about is what I want you to do next…

My hopes aren’t hight that you’ll listen to me, my depression, but think about it. I really need you to leave. We’re done.