justaoifethings

For the past year and a half, I've been recovering from depression. Recovery was always a goal for me, as it is for most struggling with mental health. But what I didn't realise what would happen when I started to recover. In my head, it would go from cruel darkness to pure joy and happiness overnight. Of course, unrealistic, but your mind is compromised when riddled with depression. Going through recovery, I realised I had lost my identity. I was no longer the mentally ill girl, depression the focus of my life. So who was I? Who was I before depression ate away with me? And I realised with horror, that I didn't know. I had been diagnosed with depression about six or seven months before starting to feel like I was recovering, after suffering for a long time. I had been suicidal and my GAD and panic attacks had begun to spin out of control, hence my diagnosis. But depression does not begin or end with diagnosis. I tried to recall the start of my depression, but still ...

I rubbed my feet over eachother, only socks on. She'd instructed me to remove my shoes at the door. She smiled sweetly at me from across the table, stretching across to pick up my plate, giving me an unintentional view. I tried to avoid it, and my eyes quickly darted to her excessively organised kitchen, each unit colour coded for clarity. She finished her wine and hiccupped, giggled and then winked at me. My hopes were wounded though, as she chirpily said "Dinner is over now, I suppose." I looked at her, confused. Even though nothing had ever been declared, I was pretty sure we were an official item. It looked that way to outsiders, but I feel as if she's playing a game. But I want her. "You didn't drink anything, so you can drive yourself home, right?" she innocently smiled. Taken aback, I blurted "Uh no, I can't... Uhm.. I'm afraid of driving... In the dark.. Everything looks the same, you know? Uh.. so yeah.." I awkwardly r...