Depression really is a liar. It's a thief. And the things it says are wrong.
I'm a therapist. I've been through depression, had more friends than I could count with depression, and now I treat people with depression. And you know, so many people who are deeply depressed think they can't accomplish anything meaningful, lack self-worth, or believe they're awful... but so many of them accomplish things despite the incredible handicap in their way. They learn and work and create. They love and help others and bring value to their communities. The world is a better place because of them.
Which they don't believe. I remember what it's like not to see any of that. So it gives me patience when these people struggle to see the world beyond the dark veil. Sometimes the first step is to be okay with being depressed, to accept that there's nothing awful and evil about feeling this bad; to give yourself permission to hurt and doubt and struggle without thinking you "should" feel better.
But sometimes I wish brainweasels were real so I could pull them out of a client's head and send the person down to the cafe for a coffee, while I, the brainweasels, and a big stick talk about how terrorism is not an appropriate way of getting what you want.
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I'm a therapist. I've been through depression, had more friends than I could count with depression, and now I treat people with depression. And you know, so many people who are deeply depressed think they can't accomplish anything meaningful, lack self-worth, or believe they're awful... but so many of them accomplish things despite the incredible handicap in their way. They learn and work and create. They love and help others and bring value to their communities. The world is a better place because of them.
Which they don't believe. I remember what it's like not to see any of that. So it gives me patience when these people struggle to see the world beyond the dark veil. Sometimes the first step is to be okay with being depressed, to accept that there's nothing awful and evil about feeling this bad; to give yourself permission to hurt and doubt and struggle without thinking you "should" feel better.
But sometimes I wish brainweasels were real so I could pull them out of a client's head and send the person down to the cafe for a coffee, while I, the brainweasels, and a big stick talk about how terrorism is not an appropriate way of getting what you want.