|Your truly, at fifteen or sixteen.|
There are a lot of things to say on the subject. But it can be hard.
I struggled with depression as a kid, which led to my self harm and eventual suicide attempt.
After my second pregnancy, I had crippling DMER and PPD.
I've coped with depression my entire adult life.
I coped with it, and I know how it feels. How it feels impossible to just answer passing questions like, "How are you?" or "What's up?" I know how hard it can be to accept your feelings, as you're feeling them, instead of ignoring them and pretending they don't exist. I know how hard it can be to feel completely alone, consumed by your own grief at absolutely nothing.
I also know there is help out there. And I urge anyone going through anything like this, depression or PPD or PTSD or a bipolar episode or anything, to reach out to the people who want to help you. To the Helpline. To your friends, your family. To anyone and everyone.
|Sometimes coping is eating a whole bag of marshmallows.|
Not completely, but a little.
The first time I realized I was depressed I was eight years old- I've been coping ever since. And some days it's as easy as listening to some Pink Floyd and sweeping the floor. Some days, it's sitting in a heap of dust bunnies and crying while my children watch Super Why.
Coping happens every day, but it happens. And that's what counts.
Get help. Reach out. And then it doesn't feel so much like coping. Then it feels like real life. And when that happens?
You're know you're going to be okay.