i'm depressed, is it safe to come out?

i hesitated before writing this headline. that's how bad it has gotten.

ten years ago, i wouldn't have given it a second thought, but in those 10 years the phrase "come out" has taken on a whole new meaning. to be clear, i'm using an older appropriation for the term: is it safe to engage with the world again?

it hasn't felt safe in a long time. if you have a differing opinion in just about any setting, you'll be cancelled for speaking your mind. people are real quick to take offense, but have no concern if they offend you. there's a cell phone video waiting on every corner. it seems like there's a national pastime of putting people in boxes. everybody's talking, but nobody's listening.

i suppose the paragraph above could be mistaken for paranoia. i'm not paranoid. i'm just tired. i'm tired of editing every word i speak or write. i'm tired of political or socioeconomic boxes. i'm tired of being afraid that i'll disappoint people if i'm honest. i'm tired of feeling marginalized just because I don't see the world the way others see it. and, by the way, i'm tired of being overweight.

i'm also sad. i'm sad that the new interpretation of "love your neighbor" comes with an asterisk. i'm sad that political platforms have become religious doctrine. i'm sad that i've come to believe there is no safe space in the world outside of my street address.

i'm confused, too. i'm confused by knowing i need to make life changes, but lacking the motivation to make them. i'm confused by the use of the word tolerance. i'm confused that living a blessed life can coexist with depression.

i crave authenticity. i'm frustrated by curated instagram posts, photoshopped facebook posts and fake tiktok videos. i'm frustrated that every form of media, from social to news, only promotes the loud, divisive voices, creating a false narrative for the rest of us. i'm frustrated by people who act to benefit themselves, regardless of the consequences. i'm frustrated that i evidently didn't learn the lessons i thought i'd learned at 40.

these posts on depression started as therapy. writing is how i process my thoughts and emotions. what i didn't expect is the newest lesson i have learned: if you desire authenticity, you have to be authentic.

i never dreamed that writing about my struggles would generate so many authentic conversations. i had a buddy come to me in tears. a friend called to share her story and offer her support. another friend called to check-in and confided in me. yet another buddy said he wanted to talk about our shared war with wellbutrin. all in all, i've spoken to 12 or more people who have taken the time to say, "me too."

as mental health month comes to a close, i say to anyone reading this post: be authentic about your struggles. i'm testing the water. so far it's been refreshingly good, but that doesn't mean i won't retreat. there likely will be days when my desire to avoid people supersedes my desire to engage. there may be times when i'm not motivated to do anything more than the minimum required.

there is a theme to every mental health conversation i've had over these past two or three weeks: "i thought i was the only one," "i can't believe you're depressed, you hide it well," and "do you have time to talk?"

please know you are not the only one. i hide it well most days, but rest assured that it's simmering just below the surface. and, yes, emphatically yes, i have time to talk. like kiki, our beloved chihuahua, i'm just now sticking my nose out from beneath the covers. it's scary, but so far it's been worth it.