I'm depressed. I say it again, and it tears another little hole in my soul. But if I don't say it out loud then I'm doomed to stay stuck.
I say it to my husband when he asks how I'm doing. I'm not proud to be saying it again, but he is kind and generous.
I say it to my therapist. She reminds to not worry about the why, instead think about things to do that help. She understands my panic and fear. The terror that I am losing ground -- going back to the dark place I lived in for so long. She offers me hope and a plan.
I say it to my best friend. She offers sympathy, but doesn't dwell on the depression. She offers distractions and fun and relaxation in the realization that she loves me even when I'm depressed, but doesn't feel any need to fix me.
I say I'm depressed and it's not as bad anymore.