I don’t take Pristiq, and I’m Bipolar II, not simply depressed. But if I see that damn wind-up doll one more time I’m throwing something. Yes, depression can make you feel like you have to wind yourself up just to function. Yes, meds can help. But the woman in the ad is still a freakin’ wind-up doll! Her frown may have turned upside-down, but it’s also been painted on.
I don’t know how many will understand this– it’s one of those things you have to experience to believe– and I wouldn’t normally post so frankly about it lest I cause concern to those who love me, but depression does a hell of a lot more than hurt.
Depression sucks away entire days, weeks, years. It rips off whole pieces of self, leaving sharp exposed edges that cut away at life, love, and the pursuit of happiness. So you medicate. You find a way to sand down those edges so that you can fit into normal life, so that you can have a job and a life and relationships and stop accidentally spearing people with your sharp sides. And you ignore the fact that sanding down those edges hurts. It leaves you raw and doubly exposed, like the nerve endings of a soldier with phantom limb syndrome, aching for those parts of you that had to be sacrificed for the good of the whole.
But you’re functioning, so what do you have to complain about?! You’re working and dating and paying the bills (barely). You’re cooking dinner and walking the dog and doing all those things that normal people are supposed to do. And you’re also writhing and screaming and bleeding as you sand down your edges each day, only you’ve been prescribed so many numbing agents that it’s not supposed to hurt anymore. You’re looking at your wounds… you’re seeing those sharp pieces that you have just removed, and the blood on the floor, all evidence of the struggle no one is supposed to see, and you suddenly realize that even though you KNOW you must be in pain,
You’re a wind-up doll. Painted plastic. And that shiny, generic reality is so much worse.