I remember a time in my life when I was sure about everything I believed in. A time where I never doubted myself or what I liked, believed in or who were the good people for my life.
That time seems like maybe a few lifetimes ago — I feel like I have no identity now. When I say that, I mean I have things that I like, but I may not like tomorrow with my depression. Let me give you an example: If I go to a coffee shop for a few days that I really like, but one day the line is just a little too long for my anxiety to handle, it is ruined for me. I hate that damn place with every fiber of my being! How could anyone want to go into that place. The line is 10 years long!
See where I am getting at?
I don’t know how it is for all of you guys out there battling major depression, but I continuously have to try and find things I’m interested in. Desperately looking for something to grab my attention that I can turn into a hobby. Something to at least waste the time so I’m not just sitting on my couch after work and staring into a blank TV for hours on end. I desperately look for interests all the time, my depression just will not let anything stick for me. It steals my ability to stay interested in anything for too long. “What’s the point in getting into this? This is silly and time wasting and you won’t be any good at it. You don’t have the time or the motivation to dedicate to a hobby anyways you lazy piece of shit.”
I feel like a prisoner. I feel like a prisoner, not closed in by four physical walls necessarily, but chained to a monstrous dark beast behind me who follows me everywhere I go. I am never alone, because this dictator constantly follows me and tries to tell me how to feel and think and live.
“You know that once you accepted me as your dark passenger, all happiness went out the window right? It’s my turn to dictate your life. You did a shitty job before you accepted me anyways. That’s why I took the reigns from you. I’ll handle things from here on out.”
Yes folks, I believe I am in my dark pit again. I am fighting like hell though because I know there are people that might need to read my story. Maybe I can save someone if I tell them that despite what’s going on with me and my depression, there is always hope for you and your depression.
I have said it before and I’ll say it again: Everyone’s depression is different because no two people are alike. No two people think the same or process anything exactly the same way. That is what makes us so horribly, beautifully, unique. While we all fight depression, we all fight it differently. We all fight it in our unique way.
This is something I have to remind myself on my worst days and it is something I hope you can keep with you to inspire you to keep fighting. Keep coming up with new tactics to share with us. Share your stories. Get your voice heard! That is the only way true change happens! We need to have our stories read people! Just like all life is precious, the story of your life is precious as well. Let your stories be told. Do not hold your tongue. Life is too short to be quiet. I am realizing this now as I write.
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