It's that time of year again. The days are shorter, the nights are longer, and the darkness overwhelms me at times. I made it through the high holidays, which are an annual struggle for me. And still, here I am, trying to make sense of it all.
A couple of weeks ago, my depression hit hard. It was a long week, and I had been concerned my long living depression demon was taking hold once again. It came at me slowly, then all at once.
At my weekly therapy session, I fought tears until I could fight them no longer. I cried, a visceral and cruel cacophony echoing my quiet thoughts. I admitted depression, and the dam broke loose. It was a relief and a defeat all rolled into one.
I fought back tears for the rest of the week. In some senses I knew I was not myself, as depression never allows me to be. I was a shell of myself, a hollowed out piece of a hole covered quietly with plywood. And I was about to crash down.
I had a big weekend planned. I had registered for this big fun steampunk convention in Redwood city, and on Saturday night, I was going to see one of my favorite podcasts recording live. I didn't really want to do any of that, but I didn't trust myself to keep occupied alone all weekend.
Ah, shoot, my thoughts echoed. I'm going to have to take my own damn advice.
I texted my parents, my fingers quivering as my tears threatened to cascade down my cheeks.
"I'm depressed. I miss you. I need help."
It was such a simple statement, but another avalanche of big feelings washed over me. In my brain I knew this was an act of strength and goodness, and still it felt like defeat in every which way. I needed something, someone. I could not fight this alone.
It's such a dreadful kind of realization, to find that you must begin to take your own advice. Hadn't I defeated this depression already? Didn't I just write a long and eloquent blog post about how strong I am, how the depression cannot define me? How could I speak such truth and have it feel like such a lie?
And of course, my parents both leapt at the opportunity to support me. When I realized this podcast show would conflict, my mom was disappointed, which encouraged me to listen to my needs and do what I knew was best. I blew off the evening show and went home with my parents.
I have been getting better. I have been feeling stronger and finding joy in all the sadness. I started a morning routine with my therapy lamp, an artificial light used to help alleviate seasonal depression. I go to the gym, I read books, I repeat affirmations to myself when the intrusive thoughts want to shout. I use DBT (dialectical behavioral therapy) skills I have been practicing for a couple of years now. I am doing the work, even if-- and especially when-- it is difficult.
I feel more like myself every day. My demon of depression is loosening its grip on me, but it is persistently there. Some days are better, and I remind myself that my worst days now are better than my best weeks a few years ago. Even on my bad days, I climb at the gym. Even as I'm depressed, I brush my teeth and take a shower every night. It may not feel like a lot, but I remind myself to remember that it is.
I wish so badly that I had a magic pill or a perfect solution. I wish I could tell you that waking up early, or 30 minutes a day with my therapy lamp, or regular workouts-- anything at all -- I wish that was the answer. I wish depression had an answer, when all I am left with is more questions.
Maybe for now, that's all I need.
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