Depression is an insidious beast. You can have days, weeks-months even-where you feel just swell. Things are going great. You’re looking good, you got that hair and make up thing working for you. You’re eating healthy and working out. You’re productive on so many levels and things are just coming up roses everywhere.
I’ve been on this roller coaster for as long as I can remember. I didn’t choose this, my DNA did. I don’t particularly enjoy being depressed, I don’t think anyone could or would. It’s not just being sad, at least for me. There’s a general malaise, where I can’t string things together enough to make a difference. I tend to numb out my feelings, usually by spending a lot of time on social media or eating. Neither option is particularly healthy, and the tools in my box are worn out and rusting.
I used to be really good at hiding when the darkness came. I’d go into my studio and paint or create. I’d go for a long walk in the woods or go for a drive. As I’ve gotten older, it’s gotten much more challenging. The darkness is much more black now, and lasts longer. The creative spikes that would accompany it have all but disappeared. It’s not worth getting depressed anymore, because there isn’t any payoff.
Unfortunately, I am part of that small percentage of the population that has not seen any benefit from pharmaceutical interventions. Believe me, I’ve tried. I tend to the crunchy side anyway, so I’ve worked out a supplement plan that seems to provide relief. People who are miraculously cured by a magic pill are the lucky ones. Folks like me, we just have to work harder.
The unfortunate truth is, I’ve had to work at everything in terms of healing. Nothing has come easy in my experience. I’m sure all this builds character, but I’m in my mid 40’s and I’m just wanting to reach the end zone as painlessly as possible. I’m working with not one, but two therapists now. One is my regular go to gal, who has literally saved me from tumbling into that pit on more than one occasion.
The other therapist is a new addition. She specializes in PTSD, which apparently living my life is a text book example of it. I’ve never been to war or experienced anything truly horrific, but everyday things can add up. It’s like being stabbed with a dull fork over and over again. You feel it, you don’t take it seriously at the time but eventually it does damage. I’m just starting down this path, and when I listed all these various life events, she was exhausted. I guess it’s time to put my burdens down, and rest a while.
I’m not sure where this path is going to lead. I’m hoping it’s not a dead end, but even if it is, I could still admire the scenery. Wherever it goes, I’m going to rise above the darkness.