I pulled out my old journals from years ago. I’m a lousy journal keeper. I always try to keep one, but I forget to write in it, or things happen and I forget to write about them. I only found about 5 of them, and none of them are filled. My current journal probably has the most writing in it. Same with blogs, I’ll write everyday for maybe a week and then not post again for a couple months.
Anyway I was curious if I was always depressed. I don’t remember being as down as I was prior to being hospitalized except for certain moments like when my mother died, I mean that would depress anyone and depression is part of the grieving process. Well yeah I was depressed, had been for years. My journals are full of just raw emotions, most of the time I didn’t write why I was feeling depressed. They’re also full of daydreaming and fantasies. Also two journals are the internal conflict which spans a year and a half of myself dealing with crushing on two different men, I crushed on a third, but I only mentioned him once before I had stopped journaling. The oldest journal is from 2000 and it is mostly day dreaming.
I’ve journaled more since December of 2014 than I have in the past 15 years, well that is a bit of a stretch. Since becoming depressed I journal more. It is one of my coping mechanisms. Anyway I’ve been depressed for years and even just acknowledging it was for me a large step into accepting that yes I have a mental illness. I said in therapy that I should’ve been diagnosed years ago, I should’ve had a therapist for years, I’m still borderline if I need meds (yes still taking them) but looking back I’ve self medicated for over a decade. I was an optimist too, after I’d write, “I’m so depressed, I’m so tired of feeling this way,” I would almost always follow it up with, “I’ll get through this, I’ll get past this.” I wondered where that optimism went.
One of the things I’ve have to come to know even though it is so hard to accept since also being diagnosed codependent and low self esteem is I can’t control anyone except myself. This falls more in a how I want to be treated by people and it doesn’t happen that way and no matter how hard I try, it isn’t going to happen like that. I blame fiction for my unrealistic expectations of how friendship should be.