I think it’s safe to say that, once again, the depression has lifted. Each time feels a little scarier, a little darker, a little more dangerous. The last two times I’ve been seriously struggling it feels as if it’s never going to get better. For the second time in less than a year I’m surprised that I’ve survived.
I’m emotionally bruised, a little jaded, moving through life more cautiously than I was before, and I have a few more scars to bare (both emotionally and physically), but I am here. I am alive and thriving.
Aside from blogging, I found myself using Instagram a lot to communicate my depression. It felt awkward and really egocentric but it was also weirdly cathartic to post my thoughts and feelings. Through therapy and some of the individual work I was doing I realized I felt extremely isolated and Instagram left me with a way to connect. It was nice hearing that people cared but, even more so, it felt really comforting to know that other people were having or have had similar struggles. I even had two face-to-face conversations with people at work that shared stories of what their loved ones have been going through.
However, the ironic thing about currently feeling not-depressed is that I’m constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. I catch myself truly enjoying life and then I wonder how long it will last. I’m trying to be open and take advantage of my non-depressed state as long as I can but I’m fearful of when it will strike again.