Keep Going
It's the other side of depression.
The side where it's not much at all, really. It's just blank.
There's no other way to describe it, not if you're being truthful. Just, empty space. It's a mixture of numb, flat, distorted, nothingness.
Your mind seemingly goes from having too many thoughts- a whole sea of things rushing to get out the same tiny exit- to having no thoughts at all. And it's not a "this is such zen, serene peace!" sort of way. It's no thoughts in the way of feeling like someone just unplugged you from existing. Like you have been drained of your Human Energy.
You try to feel the invisible, vibrational pulse of who you are, but it's not there.
You're empty.
Depression so often feels like it is winning because when it has any advantage on you at all, it crushes you. Completely and entirely. Takes total ownership of your mental space. Erases things, avoids things, empties things. Empties you.
It's not "fair," of course. You have worked so hard to be something, to have thoughts, ideas, and beliefs that are refined and fundamentally authentic. And then just like that, depression takes them from you.
Until it feels like you are nothing. That's what I feel now. Nothing really. Nothing more than a heartbeat and a blank canvas. A shell of myself.
Of course, I know this isn't true. I know that I am still me, in every way. But knowing and feeling are barely distant relatives when it comes to depression.
The notion of "hanging in there!" feels impossible. A minor insult, even. Because the future feels impossible. Time feels impossible. There is no concept of anything beyond today. You are just locked in to this moment. And it drags on, slowly, and with enormous amounts of required effort.
There's this gut level reaction I have, when this is happening, which is: damn it, this is how it is now.
"It's going to be like this forever."
That's how depression tries to lie to you. By telling you that whatever is "now" is also "forever."
Because all you can feel is what it feels like right now. Which is, objectively, absolutely awful.
Inert. Stuck. Hopeless. Weighted down. Anchored to a vague sense of hopelessness.
And every second that lasts is seemingly another piece of evidence that it is going to keep being that way, forever, until you die or some sort of natural disaster occurs. It's not somehow "deep" and filled with meaning either. From the outside it's easy to project that depression also comes with some nobility, that there are many lessons buried beneath the pain, waiting to be discovered.
And maybe, sometimes, in certain situations, that can be true. But not right now. Now, it's rather the opposite. It's bland. It's boring. It's slow ticking misery. The ironic part is, as soon as the feeling passes, I have a hard time remembering just how painful it was while I was in it. I disassociate from the raw, uncomfortable nature of the experience.
Because everything feels better on the other side of it. Lighter and easier, in every way. When you're in it, though, struggling and feeling overmatched, it's insurmountable. And in hindsight, you can't feel those same feelings. It's how depression manages to surprise you, over and over again, no matter how many times you've been through it. You never can quite recapture the essence of what made it so difficult- not that you would want to- until you are right back living inside of it again.
And then, it suddenly feels so familiar again. Too familiar. And, for whatever reason, when I'm there, that doesn't bring me a sense of optimism. It doesn't feel as though "I've been here before, I can get out again!" It just feels like doom. Like the walls are closing in.
I feel it. And it feels shameful. "How can this be happening again?"
Then, it feels unfair "I've been through this already!"
Then, it feels cruel "I don't deserve it!"
And yet, it persists. It keeps forcing you to feel. Until there's nothing really there to feel anymore. Until you are empty again.
Until seconds feel like minutes.
Until then.
But you don't know when "then" is coming.
And you just have to sit there, in the middle of the storm again, and you have to try to believe that this is going to pass, once more. And that's where it's the hardest.
That's where I am, now.
In these moments, where depression tries to steal the ability to commit to hope or any sort of tangible belief in a reality existing beyond right here and now. In these moments, where you don't know how to stay the course. Where you don't know how to find the smallest sense of something existing on the other side. Without that, you feel trapped.
With it, there's something to lean towards, even if it's just an idea, it's something. Something, in the sea of nothing.
Right now, there don't seem to be many easy answers.
At least, not for me, as I sit in the middle of it.
But there is a small truth that can be enough to grab hold of and hang on to: depression is smaller than you. Much smaller.
No matter how large it tries to posture as, no matter how intimidating it might try to be, it's smaller than you. It is tiny, compared to what and who you are.
And, even more than that, it's only a visitor. Depression doesn't get to live with you. Not forever, anyways. It feels that way, of course, in the moment.
But it's merely a guest. It will leave.
You don't always get to choose when. Sometimes, it feels like depression makes all the choices. But it will pass. It will go. That moment feels miles away, I know.
That day feels like it will never come, I know.
The concept of time can be a rather non-empathetic, seemingly hollow one, I know.
I know, and I feel it. I get it. I'm there. Right here and now.
But that tiny piece of truth- that fundamentally, depression is smaller than you, is enough to hold on to and keep holding on to. It's enough to make those moments feel like they are finite, instead of infinite. It's enough to believe that you will find your way back to yourself.
It's enough to keep going. And that's the only option.
Keep going.
In the middle of the storm, sometimes, this doesn't feel like nearly enough. Sometimes it's hard to remember it as absolute truth, and not just an idea you are projecting out, hoping to be meaningful. Because depression can feel like it's larger than you.
Right now, for me, it does, and it's hard to feel much else. But that's the thing about being in the middle of a storm: it's a storm. It's a mess. It's not very enjoyable. Depression might feel like it's getting the best of you. But really, it's only getting a small piece of you.
You are larger than it can ever be.
It relies on shady tricks and devious lies and posturing and trying to disorient you. And, sometimes, those things can fool you. For a moment, maybe.
But storms pass. And you will remain. After all the chaos, you will still be there. Because you are larger than depression could ever be. I tell myself this, now, and it doesn't offer much in the way of life altering benefit. But it's a tiny piece of truth to hold on to, to stand upon firmly, and to face whatever is left of the storm.
It's enough to keep going.
So, I'll keep going.