In 2015, easily one of the worst (if not the worst) years I had for depression and mental health issues, I felt like I was alone in the ocean, at night, with no idea which way to swim in order to reach land – just trying to float and wondering if I would go under.
By 2019, I felt like I’d managed to reach land, but had ended up in a swamp that seemed to go on forever – just trudging along through the muck because there was nothing behind me to go back to, so it was forward or die.
Midway through 2020, I feel like I’ve finally found solid ground under my feet at last.
Occasionally, I wake up feeling happy.
There are still circumstances I find frustrating, but the emotional toll isn’t the same and I recover more quickly.
I had the day off, Thursday, and I woke up and put on music and smiled just because I felt happy. I did dishes and put on a cute dress and went to the laundromat and then picked up my paycheck. I could have waited until Friday for the paycheck, but I wanted S to see me wearing a cute dress and looking smokin’ hot.
I had a therapy appointment via phone and then went for a walk, and it was such a perfect summer day that I felt like I was in a Studio Ghibli movie. The pictures I took can’t do it justice.
At one point, anxiety tried to kick in. I couldn’t experience a day this perfect, feeling this good, and not pay for it later.
I told my brain to shut the fuck up. Good days and bad days are just part of the cycle of life.
Besides, by that logic, I had already paid for this day. It was owed to me.