I’m Not Depressed

I’ve nearly been home for two weeks after a three week hospital admission. I have absolutely no regrets. That hospital admission was the best, most helpful thing I have ever done. Ever.

I was admitted in the middle of a severe depressive episode. It’s only now that I’m feeling better that I can see how unwell I was. I was regularly engaging in unsafe behaviours, I knew things were bad, but not that bad. I was certain that suicide was logical, and absolutely the only solution. I didn’t see a way out. The only way out was my death.

Obviously things have changed. Three weeks of intense therapy, a new medication, and I feel good again. I have plans for the future, and things I want to do. I want to spend time with friends and family again. I can get out of bed each day, and shower on a regular basis. I can prepare delicious and nutritious meals, and take care of my physical health issues.

I can smile. I don’t have to fake it, or put any effort into it. I can smile without thinking because I actually feel happy.

I am very, very grateful to be alive. I’m grateful for my psychologist insisting that I was unwell and needed to be in hospital. I’m grateful for my psychiatrist putting so much effort into working with us, and helping us. I’m grateful for the nursing staff at the hospital and the care they provided. I’m grateful for my GP for not walking away even when I was incredibly unwell. I’m grateful for my friends who never stopped caring.

I’m still adjusting to life at home. I’m hoping to get back to writing here more regularly, but be patient with me.


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