Now comes the hardest part of the game. It's so easy to listen to your demons, to worry that if you do get back the awesome that you'll lose touch with this very deep, dark part of you. That you'll never be able to help anybody because you aren't in bottom of the trench any more. And that somehow getting up and going about with the business of living the life you've always wanted is a fruitless and vain exercise. That all you are is gray.
The part where you worry that you've gone too far. Said too much. Gotten too deep, too dramatic. Pulled people into Big Conversations. The Adventure seems foolhardy. The Pursuit a waste of time. Just put your head down and do what is expected of you. The list of your problems scaled against those of the least fortunate is shameful.
Just be happy.
Just do it.
For some people it will work out and for some people it won't and the problem is very simply YOU.
How could I possibly write a book? Yeah, like I'm going to tattoo my whole arm. Dresses? Who am I trying to fool. There's no way I could build a whole website because I've waited too long to get back into the game. I can't even keep my house clean. Or my freelance handled. Or my bills under control. How could I possibly dare to be that bleached hair, tattooed, chunky-heeled wearing badass who could publish a book or custom-build your site into awesomeness when I won't even pay for a haircut and still publish on a Blogger template.
Who am I to think I could be anything different.
And there it is.
This is why depression is so impossible. It's not a constant anything. It grows and changes so it can keep making you believe that not only are you the cause of the unhappiness you feel but that you couldn't possibly be the harbinger of your own happiness. It makes you feel worse for wanting to be rid of it, makes you believe you have more to lose by overcoming it than by succumbing to it. The minute you feel like getting out of bed and leaning towards something that you've always wanted to be you get hammered by your own self-doubt. Intimidated by yourself.
If you were to lay out all of the self-deprecating inner dialogue that you launch against your inspirations, against your spirit, and instead wrote it as if somebody else were speaking to you, you'd have a hard time justifying that person in your life.
So now what.
Now we force ourselves to do the things we need to do. We get up early despite the thought that there is nothing to get up for. We take care of our body with exercise, despite the overwhelming apathy to do anything for this vessel. We eat foods we should eat. We drink for the taste, not for the numb. We acknowledge that there is a better way to be and that the only thing holding us back from that is this ridiculous word, depression, that lies to us and makes us feel hopeless.
We attach. We connect. We feel.
And we refuse to be ashamed.
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