I feel like a weight has been lifted. I feel light, and happy, and free. Most of all, I don’t feel depressed. And frankly, that scares the shit out of me.
Depression is weirdly comforting. It hurts but I know what to expect. Sadness, heartbreak, self-loathing… they hug me tight and I walk through life with them by my side. I felt lonely in my depressed but I feel naked without it.
To not be depressed is terrifying because I’m waiting for the depression to set in, again. I know that life without depression won’t last. I know that something could trigger it at any moment. I remember exactly what it feels like and the irrational thoughts that ran through my head, and I wish more than anything that I could fully recover.
It doesn’t help that something really great happened to me last week that I think might be giving me a temporarily inflated ego that’s quieting the usual I’m-not-enough conversations I love to have with myself. It’s easy to feel better when I have something to hide behind.
The worst part is that I can’t fully enjoy or relish in the non-depression because I’m still so focused on being depressed. How horribly ironic.
Once again, depression has me irrational.