Depression

Apologies for the delay in writing, this week has shaped up to be quite hectic. I’ve found myself once again trundling through the echoes of the past, and wondering why they still resonate in the present and future. As much as I have tried to remove the shackles that rest tightly upon my wrists, the past seems to have an innate desire to be forever a constant presence within the confines of my mind and soul.

It’s an odd feeling to walk in the present and be haunted by the past, so far as to even have flashbacks when my mind should be focused on other things. It is not secret that I am someone who suffers from depression, a depression quite well rooted within me. For years I have resisted medication, and any help whatsoever.

I’ve always thought that this was my cross to bear, and that bear it alone was the requirement, it is expected of a man, where I come from, to be stoic, to deal with your problems silently and on your own. You do not, after all, bring shame to the family, to your name, by airing your dirty laundry in public.

Whilst I have perhaps developed an innate strength because of it, there are other effects that are quite counter productive. I have no confidence or self worth at all, and I openly judge myself to be lesser than my peers. More often than not I mask this with snippets of arrogance and self depreciative humour.

Right now I still continue to soldier on with my stance on medication. Unfortunately, experience with Doctors regarding this issue has taught me to effectively take my own counsel rather than visit a medical professional. In the past I have visited medical professionals over it and have merely been told to find someone to talk to, because apparently I had never ever considered that before…

Frustration boils to the core and so the viscous cycle reigns supreme, I continue to soldier on and suffer for it, and refuse to show said suffering, meaning that it all goes unnoticed under a veneer of arrogance and pseudo-confidence, under the auspices and hope that the shame remains hidden, that the suffering remains unmentioned, and that I can continue to bottle up everything inside and soldier on, because, quite frankly, I do not know any other way to cope.

Until next time,

The Raven

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