THE BLOG
08/25/2014 05:52 pm ET Updated Oct 26, 2014

Depression Detaches Me From Logic

Dulcie Wagstaff via Getty Images

A year ago I chose the name Detached From Logic for my blog. It came to me instantly. I simply wanted the title to reflect my mind. And most of the things I think of are silly, random and chaotic all at once. Those are the fun times, in my mind.

The not so fun times are when my anxiety disorder runs a muck. After it races around, it's ugly cousin depression stays for an unannounced visit. It's nuts when they hang out together. It even makes me anxious to write about having depression. Cause I can't cope with the well wishers or shock and "awe-ers" who say, " I had no idea you were, you know, depressed."

Of course you didn't know. I don't exactly like to bring attention to my shitty parts when I can get you to laugh or smile instead. And I get real worried my mom will start leaving motivational quotes on my voice mail. I go it alone. Like most people who have a mental health issue.

No one, really, is comfortable with your mental parts. And that's okay. Society takes time. We are starting to talk about it, but not enough that we can post on Facebook: "Shadow creeping over my life anyone got a light?" and get 14 likes with some "be right over" comments. No, we are not there yet.

And I am not personally at the stage where I take my depression and embrace it, and all that wishy-washy horse shit.

I don't welcome it at all. I fight, deny, push and run. But it always catches me. It's always waiting for a moment. A glimpse of a bill, a peek in the laundry room, an unintentional comment, random everyday moments I can usually brush off. But some days those little sights are my monsters. Those sights turn to thoughts that turn to self-loathing. That turns to shame and then guilt. Throw some "I'm a bad mother" lies in there and we have a bat-shit-crazy cake mix.

When I am otherwise skipping through life, an innocent trigger can bring me to my knees. I had one of those days today. Today, for people with depression, it's a dark day. Because I had to reach out for help. Today I had to lean on my hunky husband's big arms and admit defeat. I couldn't talk myself into a happy place. I couldn't write, play or be funny. I couldn't see light despite my children's faces, songs or love.

Depression was sitting right on my face today. Pulling out tears. Puffing up my eyes. Whispering lies in my ears. These days are rare. But they happen. And they are mother fuckers. The only rope I could grab was permission to fall. He stayed home. He made my bed and he tucked me in. He said "Not today. You don't have to deal alone today." That is how you help a person who suffers from this horribleness. You give them permission to be. But not alone. Just like you would hold hair back, and grab a bucket for a flu-ridden child.

I would love to end this post with a clever and witty remark. But she took the day off.

Today I need to be open, raw and pray that discussions about mental health become more "normal" and accepted, so it's not such a secret. So when I feel like shit I can know you have been there, too. I can trust you will make my bed as I will yours.

Originally Published at detachedfromlogic.com.

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Need help? In the U.S., call 1-800-273-8255 for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline.