I brushed my hair today.
It snapped and tore with every stroke. I cried while I washed and conditioned it, because I forgot how it felt to run my fingers through it. I brushed my teeth, too, for the first time in a week.
My gums bled. My water ran red. I cried over that, as well. When I got out of the shower, I couldn’t stop sniffing my hair and arms. I’ve avoided hugging people for a while, because I never smell good. I always smell like I’ve been on bed rest for a week. I have no clean clothes, because I’m too tired and sad to wash them.
Depression isn’t beautiful.
Depression is bad hygiene, dirty dishes, and a sore body from sleeping too much.
Depression is having three friends that are only still around because they have the patience and love of a saint.
Listen: Libby Trickett shares her struggle with post-natal depression on I Don’t Know How She Does It (post continues after audio…)
Depression is crying until there’s no more tears, just dry heaving and sobbing until you’re gasping for your next breath.
Depression is staring at the ceiling until your eyes burn because you forget to blink.
Depression is making your family cry because they think you don’t love them anymore when you’re distant and distracted.