October 2008.

Depression is a clever scheme. It tugs on your hand at first, a little bit at a time, demanding your attention. You can only ignore it for so long before you realize it’s settled in, a thick smoke cloud that’s made itself at home, in most, if not all, the rooms in your mind. A looming shadow in the background of every move you make, infiltration of your thoughts, feelings, mood, it is the air you breathe, suffocation untraceable.

It is easy to label something. Mood Disorder. The anxiety that comes with knowing it is approaching, again. The anxiety that is there when you don’t have the presence of being present, wishing you could be unseen, because you’re not quite sure of where you’ve gone to. Labeling it is the easy part. The hard part is finding your way out of a mind designed to confuse you.

At times, I side with it, thinking it is only there to show me I am right in being unhappy. This is when I question and think there is something wrong with everything and everyone other than me, craving some drastic change or escape from my life, not acknowledging that it is ultimately…myself…I am trying to escape.

Maybe I should write more, or not at all. Maybe I’m not in the right profession. Maybe I’m in the wrong city. Where should I move to? Across the country? To another country? (I should’ve lived in a different decade, century altogether). Maybe therapy’s not helping, maybe nothing’s helping because I’m not where I’m supposed to be. Maybe I’d just be happier somewhere else, with other people, doing something else, being someone else…

Maybe my most recent toxic and failed relationship was a good thing that I was not good enough for. Maybe I’m not beautiful enough. (As beautiful as someone else). Or funny enough. Strong enough. Maybe I’m too crazy, weak, unstable, clingy, needy, not normal enough, unworthy, ugly!!! Maybe I need a new wardrobe, a makeover, go somewhere and re-invent myself...

The choice of what to change is overwhelming, unrealistic, an escape itself that does nothing other than leave you feeling helpless, immobile, a failure for not changing anything…other than maybe your hair colour.

I need another cigarette, it’s been a whole few minutes since my last one. And a drink. And a perc. Fuck, those things will change your mood to happy (and numb), from no matter what it is. But I can’t get them, no one will give me any if they have any, saying they won’t give me that shit, and most people just don’t have any, and so I light up another cigarette and pour a drink.

I’m lucky to have good friends. At least one of them is always there anytime I need them. They listen. Let me cry without feeling sorry for me. Come over at 3am to sleep on my couch because I’ve had a nightmare. Sit through endless stories about an intense roller-coaster 6-month long breakup, from a relationship that was only 8 months long.  They hear my crazy thoughts, again and again. Never getting tired of me. Never judging me. Never leaving me.

And yet despite all of my desperation for change, and restless resistance to it, I have changed so much already…

November 2010.

Working your way through and out of the madness is gradual, slow and seemingly unchanging. But then you look back and realize that although you’re the same person, what’s changed is that the self-directed hate is gone. You understand now that when something doesn’t work out, shit just happens, that’s life, it’s not your fault. That part of yourself that use to enter your mind and paint everything black with a quietly confused anger…that’s been replaced. It’s been replaced by knowing you’re good and that the shitty things that happened to you really weren’t your fault. They could’ve happened to anyone. But most of all, you know that real change is possible with patience and hard work and although sometimes, you miss the madness, cause there was such intensity in it, you know there can be an equal intensity without self-destruction. That hungry, out of control, raging need, desire for love that all but consumed you, like a drug…you found that need. It never had room to breathe. It never had room to be before. Everyone else’s needs were more important than your own and so it was easier to just keep it quiet…you buried that need, along with the pain and although you allowed yourself to be angry with the right people sometimes (and the wrong people sometimes), you accepted the lie that you just weren’t meant to be loved.

It sounds so cliché. But it’s raw emotion really. It’s what moves you and drives you and molds you and creates any sort of motion…

Your thoughts are symptoms of those emotions. They are symptoms and they are clues that you can use to work your way out of your mind’s webs. Challenge your thoughts! Don’t accept them for what they are. They can trick you and fool you in an effort to protect your ego or because there is seemingly nothing to have good thoughts about. Sure, it’s hard to face the truth sometimes, but it’s the only way out….

I love those that are supportive and loving and caring, but I love those that challenged me and showed me I was wrong too. A good balance is needed. Don’t be afraid to cut everyone off that simply doesn’t care enough. A good friend may make mistakes at times, but if they care enough, they will always want to fix it. I love those friends the most.

Therapy is prescribed to those with a mental illness. It’s reserved for those considered “sick”. But we all have warped thoughts, we all could use some self-awareness and self-examination. No one is perfect. All therapy is is an opportunity to change. Why not change for the better?

By Diana