The lies we tell ourselves

Every year at my annual checkup, my doctor asks if I’m depressed. It’s on that quick checklist of questions they have to ask.

Every year, I smile, maybe chuckle a bit, and respond “haha nope!” despite the suicide notes or cuts made that year. Honestly, I just didn’t want to deal with it. After all, I had gotten out of bed that day, I had made it to the doctor’s office, I was obviously okay. It wasn’t so much a lie to him as it was to myself.

I’ve started taking care of myself since then. I’ve talked to a therapist when I needed to, I acknowledge to myself when I need help, and I give myself a break when I need it (most of the time).

So this year at the doctor, I changed my answer. “Yeah, I’ve been struggling a bit.” And he responded, “Really? Are you sure? You don’t look depressed!””Haha yeah I guess I’m okay,” I said. I let it go. And I’ll probably never bring it up again.

And I think I am doing okay. I’m certainly doing much better than I was a few years ago, but this summer’s been tough on me. After receiving bad news from the doctor, my grandmother passed within a matter of weeks. My dad’s health has also been deteriorating lately. All of this has taken a serious toll on my mother. So I think I”m okay because I have to be okay. And because I’m working forty hours a week and I don’t have time to… think.

I honestly think I’m just holding out till I leave for Japan and hoping to god that it’ll fix me. Because I’m starting to crack at the edges. But hey, I guess I’ll just tape myself back together and keep going because after all “I don’t look depressed”. I must be okay.


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