I’m Happy, I Think

I want to start off this post by saying thanks to the people that have followed so far and also apologise for not updating for so long. Anyway, let’s move on.

Two days ago, I had a very strange day. Actually it was quite generic. I made an appointment at the dentist and went to the bank and the library.  What made it strange was the feeling I had that day. I felt lighter, I felt a sort of calmness.

It took me until the afternoon to realise that for the first time in years, I didn’t feel depressed. Sure, I have good days, but the dark feeling always hangs around. But that day it was gone. I felt happy, more importantly I was content, for the first time in…I don’t know how long, probably more than four years. I was in a carefree mood I was excited about everything.

The first thing that I thought to myself, after realising I didn’t feel depressed was, ‘Is this what normal people feel like all the time?’

Is it? Do you feel that lovely calm, happy feeling? Instead of feeling like you ‘don’t care’, is it more like you ‘don’t mind’?

It took me a few more moments to work out that this was how I always used to feel.This was my old personality, my real personality. After all this time, years of depression, anxiety, a self harm addiction that totally ruined my ability to identify emotions, after everything, I was still somewhere under there.

So that’s what happened. My depression went away and it hasn’t come back. I don’t know where or why it went, and I’m sure it will come back. Depression isn’t the sort of thing that just magically disappears. Still, it’s nice to feel like me again. It’s nice to be reminded that I am more than my depression.

I Can’t Write, and It’s Killing Me

I can’t write. I just can’t do it. This might not sound like much, but writing is my whole life. Since I was a child, writing stories has been my distraction, my escape from the things around me. Now, as a (not quite) adult, I write my own original fiction, and even some fanfiction for something more lighthearted. But at the moment I can’t. I can hear you now, “But you’re writing a blog post, right now, so you obviously can!” Nope, it’s not the same. I can write this, but it’s not the same as writing stories.

It’s not that I don’t have ideas. I know exactly what I need to write in the next part of all the things I’m currently working on, but I open a Word document, or I flick to a new page in one of my notebooks…and I can’t do it. I physically cannot bring myself to write. So I put my headphones on, I listen to music, usually Eminem, and I stare at the wall. I scroll down Tumblr until the sun rises in the window behind me, and I feel sick. One of the most irritating things is that listening to Eminem used to actually help me work more efficiently, now it doesn’t help. I can’t write.

That’s depression. Depression will take the thing you love most and turn it into a chore. You can’t do anything, even when you want to. Thanks to a self harm addiction, I have trouble safely expressing my emotions. Any sort of strong emotion, positive or negative, makes me want to hurt myself. Writing is one of the only ways that I can properly channel and convey my feelings. If I can’t do that, then I end up feeling trapped. It’s the only way I know how to feel better, and if I can’t do it, then I only feel like dying. It’s been over a month since I last wrote anything. I don’t know how to make myself better.