How I Copped with Depression
Here’s the thing. I haven’t always been a happy person. I am not the happy kind. Even though I might seem like that sometimes, full of energy, motivating, alive.
Part of my credo is to remember things and honour them. That is also the reason why I like to write: because this way I can immortalise things that happened, things I felt. So, I do remember the unhappy me. The disappointment that came with the discovery of … life.
It all started with realising that people, especially the loved ones, are not who I’d think they’d be. Not brave enough, not delicate enough, not soft enough or tough enough, too proud, too unexpressed or frustrated. And then I realised I had a say in this grey picture I had painted of the world. It was me who was imposing the standards, it was my fault they were not good enough. In the absence of all standards, those people are just … people. Of course, that made me even sadder.
To realise I am the source of my unhappiness was a tough blow. When you are in the bucket, you don’t need to get into the pit, to realise you are in deep shit. What was I to do? Keeping the hope that things might change, that OTHERS might change, seemed impossible. Hell, it seemed suicidal. Mind you, hope is something very dangerous. That wasn’t a solution, so I made a pact with myself: appreciate the world for what it is, don’t blame it for what it is not.
I know it seems very easy to say. Doing it might be a problem, especially when you are fighting depression and/or an asshole of a boyfriend or friend here or there. For me it worked little by little. I didn’t try to be nice and smiley at the world unless I felt it. When I didn’t feel it, I stayed in bed or got drunk or smoked and released my fury at the world. And after a while, after all the poison and the bitterness got out, I was clean enough and prepared enough to see the sky again.