What Does Depression Look Like

What Does Depression Look Like?

We don’t look like we hurt is an understatement, because as a black woman who suffers from depression I have had to put on my share of fake smiles. Under the pretty clothes, the polished nails and having my hair done I am screaming on the inside. Looking pretty on the outside and hurting so bad in the inside, wanting to stay under the covers and not be seen again. We are walking around town with our heads held high because that’s what our culture has told us to do.

We are not weak, we’re strong and that’s it. Women are usually the back bone in our households when daddy isn’t around so absolutely no time for a pity party we got work to do. In the black community we handle things differently, meaning we just don’t discuss at all. Sweep it under the rug and never speak of it again. Black women are supposed to be Super Women, getting everything done in a blink of an eye. Cooking, cleaning, and taking care of the kids is all we knew how to do and that was our life for a while!

There is no time for pity because we have work to do. Complaining is unheard of, you just worked through your moving. We are strong we are supposed to be able to conquer anything and everything, we are the backbone of our families. I never saw my mom or grandma look or act depress over anything, they just went about their life and did what they needed to do.

So how does depression look? Does it look like my grandma, mom or aunties? Or me? Sad, confused and desperate?I really don’t know but it hurts and I’m tired of pretending everything is alright and I’m tired of wearing this Super Women cape, time to unmask! Time to take off the wig, the nails and put away the fake smile, I suffer from depression and it is real! No matter much how much you try to hide it, it’s real and you can’t run from it! I suffer from it and you probably do too, but you can’t speak about because it’s not what we do. So let’s talk about it and follow me on journey on this roller coaster of emotions life has thrown at me.

 

I Suffer Too,

Olivia B. Shepherd