I have a list of blog post ideas in my journal, which I reference when I am in a writing mood and need some inspiration. My latest suggestion was as follows: "Week of depression (May 2026, depression as episodic with some weeks being hard for no reason)"
I don't remember which week of May this was. I don't know if I was feeling depressed for a couple of days or a couple of weeks. But I do know that depression lingers. Depression lives in me.
Depression lives in me the way mold creeps on living things, the way bacteria spreads, the way innocence is tainted by sadness and broken promises. It's there. It's always there.
I've fought depression for most of my life. Today, I am lucky enough to have a medication regimen that works well for me, and self care habits, and therapeutic modalities and skills that get me through hard moments. And still, I don't know what it is like to live with a mind that functions normally, for lack of a better term.
There are battles everyone fights that we know nothing about. There is chronic illness, depression, mental health struggles, systematic discrimination-- there are themes and burdens people carry that will always be foreign to me. I know that these daily battles are often mental, but they can be physical, financial, and a dozen other pieces in some strange, messed up combination. I know we are all a little bit broken in our own beautiful way.
Time heals all wounds, and time moves things forward. I don't remember the specifics of this depressive moment in May, but I know deep in my bones the pitfall of this tightrope.
It is a tightrope of next steps. Am I really depressed? Am I struggling enough to ask for help? I don't want to worry anyone. Maybe I just need to eat, or sleep, or something else that is a normal solution to whatever this depressed mood is.
Maybe I caught a cold, or some kind of virus, and I need to rest and drink honey tea and whatever else you're supposed to do when you're sick. There's no physical symptoms for this mild depression, at least none that I can be aware enough to track.
Am I exercising enough? Maybe I'm working out too much, and I need rest. Maybe I'm eating too much sugar, or not enough carbs, or the wrong amount of protein. Maybe the AI landscape of the internet is draining my hope for the future of humanity (and maybe that's not a normal thought?).
I can't be depressed enough to change any of my medications. When I get these drops of depression, it's never serious enough to call my psychiatrist. But should I set up an extra meeting with my therapist? Is this really depression? What does depression feel like, anyway?
And so I'm left waiting, watching as the world moves by. I see strangers on the street, wonder how they see the world. Are they also feeling crushed by the battle that is daily life? Or have they never felt this ongoing melancholy? Are they also struggling, but maybe they're more aware of it? Or maybe they're less aware?
Even if I do find a cure for this time, I don't think it will fix it the next time. Maybe this time I need to be going to be one hour earlier every night until my body is rested enough. But what about next time? Who's to say there will be an easy to find exit ramp next time? Maybe my next short to medium road of melancholic mundanity is caused by a different perfect storm. I don't know. I'll never know.
I wish my depression didn't creep like this. I wish it didn't feel so mild and mundane that I can look past it and shrug. I wish I could feel more certain with every different thing my mind wants me to feel so deeply.
Today, I'm not depressed. Today, my emotions go about their normal ways as I move my way through my day. Right now, I am still jet lagged from a wonderful knitting cruise vacation and I offer myself grace for all of that. Right now, I am finding joy in my creative projects and fulfillment in my work.
It's not perfect. It's never perfect. And yet, right now, it is so much more than enough.
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