When I found out in 1990 that I had Clinical Depression, it flabbergasted me!
How could that be? I was always upbeat and cheerful! It had to be a mistake.
It wasn’t. And you know what? There are millions just like me.
As time went on and I learned more about my mental illness, I saw how it came about.
It began in my childhood.
I was, and still am, estranged from my family and doubted they would enter therapy with me, even though my oldest sister is a therapist.
They raised me to believe everything was my fault, and they did nothing wrong.
So, how could I get better? How could I resolve long-standing family issues without them being involved?
I’ll tell you how: I focus on what is within my power, my responsibility, my behavior. I keep my side of the street clean and let others take care of what is theirs to manage.
And by holding my head high, facing and accepting the issues that fueled my depression, resolving them and sending them back to hell where they belong.
I practice that every day and will for the rest of my life.