The Ugly Truth

I've been reading another M. Scott Peck book. His most famous book starts with a simple truth: "Life is difficult."

I haven't written anything in awhile. It's spring here in Toronto and I've been trying and trying to come up with some story of tulips and sunshine to help everyone who reads me have a happier day.

I received another message thanking me for putting myself out there, for having the courage to tell the truth, share my story. Apparently, it's been an inspiration to some people. It hasn't come without a cost though. My ex-boyfriend always gave me the same advice about this blog: You could just tell the truth. 

And it's not that I don't. I'm pretty honest. But everything is sugar coated, it all has that twist at the end where I say everything is going to be okay. I don't just do it for the people who read it, I do it for me. So that I can believe that too.

The honest truth is that this morning I got up, took a shower, put on a dress and couldn't leave my apartment. I just sat in a chair and cried. I've never not shown up for work, not called in to let them know where I was. A colleague and very good friend actually showed up. He made me call my therapist and sat on the floor with me while I cried. He offered to take me to the hospital.

I chose a path, years ago now. Was it the right one? I don't know. I've been fighting a losing battle. One I will never win. For me though, the path of least resistance is just not an option at this point.

I have one friend who understands me and supports me through everything. I have a couple of people in my family I can call when I need help. Other than that, I'm alone. Would it have been better to stay married, continue to be part of a cult, have hundreds of friends that aren't really your friends unless you obey? No. It wouldn't. But that doesn't make life on the outside any easier.

I've realized that as much as I try to be an advocate, I'm actually ashamed of who I am. I'm pretty sure anyone who deals with depression feels the same way. We wish we could be better. We wish it would go away. I want to be the old Margaux, the one who took care of everyone else and did it with a smile. But I'm not anymore. And this blog will end like that.

Sullivan out.