Everything on a bad day feels like a first draft of an unwritten story. There’s a sense of being too heavy, a sense that the action of rising will require insurmountable effort. If you can relate to this, you’ve probably have days like that too.
There have been days where I have had decided to lie in bed binge surfing on my phone in lieu of a therapy session. When I am most unhappy, I often find myself not wanting to talk to anyone at all. For the afflicted, you probably identify with this too.
Therapy is a hell of a lot like speed dating. I’ve sat on a great many sofas, couches, waiting rooms with certificates and answered many, many leading questions. I’ve been on a carousel of medication, from Ritalin to Xanax to Wellbutrin etc…
There are days where my heart is inscrutable, like a still and vast ocean. Other days it feels as though my will is balanced on something infinitely small and precarious. It makes me angry.
There are, thankfully, good days too. On those days I might feel fascination with an article, a TV show or a good book. I enjoy a good conversation, or the company of my friends.
Depression has many angles of attack. Some days it feels like a stifling boredom, other days an existential despair. In its harshest form it becomes a self imposed exile on Life via suicide.
For me, there really aren’t any “silver bullets” to things, whether you look at philosophy, psychology or psychiatry. In fact, the many interconnecting and sometimes conflicting views provide great anxiety.
Sometimes all we need is for someone, or even ourselves, to tell us, ” You aren’t okay. And that’s okay.”