I am too comfortable with my depression
I am too comfortable with my depression. Nagging, spiteful, cruel, sad, hurtful thoughts feel like second nature. When they’re gone, I almost feel nervous. I wonder where they’ve gone, what I’ve done to deserve the quiet without them and it leaves me feeling like something is missing. Some part of me, granted a part I dislike, but a part of me nonetheless.
I convince myself that it serves a purpose. That somehow, the anxiety and anger I throw at myself is what I use to motivate me. I always did work well under pressure, but maybe that’s just because I’ve always put so much on myself that I didn’t have much choice but to learn to work with it.
But all of that is ridiculous, I know it is. The logical side of my brain reminds me on a daily basis that “needing” depression sounds sad, scary, and a little sick. It’s not something anyone wants, and it certainly isn’t something anyone needs. Everyone gets sad sometimes, but when it feels like it’s another person in the room or a shadow that always follows behind you, right there but just out of reach? Who would want that?
That’s what depression does, though. It twists you up until you’re confused. Tears at you until you’re sure that it’s the thing holding you together rather than pulling you apart. When you start to feel like you’re getting past it and don’t need it anymore, it scares you into submission so you’ll let it back in. That’s how it wins. This isn’t news to me, I’ve been telling myself it for years.
To be fair, I have good times. I’ll go months at a time where I feel like a “normal” person, which of course, there is no such thing. But right now is not one of those times. Now is one of those times I have to tell myself over and over to let it go. To be sad, but not dwell. To feel whatever I feel, but don’t cling to it so tightly.
I’m just thinking about myself and my life. My word for the year is ‘acceptance’ and I’m not very good at accepting. I’m stubborn. If things aren’t right or fair it’s all I can think about. When I haven’t met my own expectations, I obsess. And get angry. And determined to the point of exhaustion. It’s not good, friends.
So I guess I’m writing this as a reminder for myself, and for everyone else that needs it:
You deserve to be happy. Totally, 100% without a doubt. It doesn’t always come easy, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. If you need help, there’s zero shame in that. Everyone needs help sometimes. But the point is: depression and anxiety are not your friends. They aren’t helping you, they aren’t what makes you interesting or creative. It’s about time to stop giving them so much power.