I cannot say I know anything about Depression.
I do know about melancholy, pessimism and despair. Tightening of the heart. Anger boiling to your throat. Pain in your soul.
That isn't depression.
That is giving too many people right over your happiness.
Of course, that is not me anymore. I sincerely do not care about anyone's opinion.
For as long as I can remember, I'd always wanted to see a shrink. I believe having deep conversations with a certified stranger is medicine.
I remember two years ago I asked an acquaintance, she gave me a number but when I went through the social media profile of the "shrink", I was uncomfortable with her level of exposure with the "virtual world". Too many mutual friends. Too many "Lols". Too many comments. No discretions.
How do you feel safe around someone who promises to protect your "secrets" yet is such an extrovert, keeping too many friends and having too much of the cyber life.
I decided to be my own "shrink". I started ranting on this wall to myself.
All my secrets are out. I am empty.
Last week I went for check up. No blood pressure.
This is my 836 rant. Imagine having 836 rants unsaid/unwritten, living inside of you. Eating you up. Gnashing your teeth... I'd be hypertensive and frustrated by now.
I have said everything there is to say about my life.
No, I didn't listen to all the people who told me not to rant out everything.
You don't get to tell me how my healing will come. You don't
get to decide if silence will work best for me.
I was silent for over three decades. And I was UNHAPPY.
I have ranted 836 times. That's 836 demons outta my life.
I present those demons to you on a platter, you can have them: use them as you wish. Sub your father. Shade your mother. Buy a canopy for your friends.
You are a demon inheritor.
Me? I'm off to go build my media empire.
For me, speaking out 836 times in the last 3 years have healed me. I found happiness. Contentment.
And sincerely, I don't give a rat ass about anything.
I say this because I see people telling others to keep their problems to themselves. Don't tell anyone. Don't talk about it.
Talk about your problem. Talk. Talk. And don't stop talking.
What people do with what you share with them should not be your problem.
I don't talk to people. At least not anymore...
I RANT. I speak to a larger audience. I speak to the world.
These rants healed me. I am free.
Let them be your burden. They are no longer mine.
I do not believe that everybody who commits self-harm or suicide suffers depression.
Despair and disappointment can lead you straight to your personal hell. Right at the edge of drinking sniper or longing for physical pain.
If you speak out. You may just find that your words carry life and the gift of healing.
You don't have to suffer alone. Put your worries out there. Trade it for peace of mind. Let the buyers of misery bargain amongst themselves while you take a long walk into a new day.
It works for me. It may work for you.
PS: This applies to only a few. The rest of y'all, as they say, don't share your truths. Keep your life in a piggy bank.
Written By Joy Isi Bewaji