Coco Chanel. Valentino. Dior. Givenchy. Gaultier. Armani. Versace. Saint Laurent.
All top current or past fashion houses. Associated with luxury.
Ferrari. Porsche. Mercedes. BMW. Lexus. McLaren. Bentley. Audi.
All luxury automobile companies. Associated with luxury.
Godiva. Lindt. Cadbury. Jacques Torres.
Chocolatiers. Associated with luxury and indulgence.
Depression.
Mood Disorder. NOT associated with luxury.
So often we wish and covet the finer things in life. Good chocolate. Fine cars. Nice clothes. Materialistic, yes, but we are by default, human, and have materialistic cravings. It happens.
I remember the last time I thought about wanting a decadent truffle. Or a nice dress. Or even thought about my dream car.
What I don’t remember, however, is the last time I wished for depression. The last time I thought to myself, hey, you know what? Depression sounds really good today. I think, along with a hot bubble bath and a cup of the world’s finest hot cocoa, I’ll slip a little Depression into my day. It’s just too damn bright and sunny today. Today needs a touch of Depression. Where do I get that? What does it look like? Is it a pair of glasses I slip on to grey down the bright sunny day? An iPod with Ben Stein’s monotone voice repeating over and over how much today sucks? Or is it food that looks delicious but tastes like nothing? Oooh.. I know.. it’s a bouncy house… grey… with an entrance which closes behind you and doesn’t re-open until you manage to find the right secret compartment containing a magic map to show you the way out. YES! It’s a grey bouncy house!
Depression is not a luxury.
It’s not a sumptuous bubble bath into which one sinks at the end of the day.
It’s not a delectable hand crafted dark chocolate truffle.
It’s not a magnificent engine encased in fine steel able to handle curves as if they don’t exist.
It’s just as real though.
It’s just as tangible.
It’s there for up to 20% of new moms.
It’s there for millions of Americans.
They didn’t go to a showroom to purchase it.
They didn’t click on a link to choose it.
They didn’t put it on a gift list.
It wasn’t swag.
Like an unwelcome guest, it showed up at the front door, pushed inside, and stayed put for much longer than necessary. It fed on shreds of happiness, sanity, and gobbled up hope. Like a squatter, it showed no signs of leaving.
If that’s your idea of luxury, if you truly think that falling into the deep dark pit of depression is luxury?
You need more help than I ever did.
My Postpartum Voice 