Today in my session, Bristle and I talked about my last blog. She tried to get me to explain my feelings about it. Like this one, that blog was public, but it was filled with A LOT of personal thoughts and information about me and my life. She asked me why I decided to shut it down, and eventually I was able to verbalize that I felt like it was dragging me down.
A few people I didn’t want to ever read it did just that, and it became this big mess. I didn’t stop posting–I actually continued for over a year afterwards, but it was… well, it wasn’t as good for me as I thought it was, I suppose.
I told Bristle that blogging allowed me to put my feelings “out there,” implying that they were no longer just inside my head. Something about blogging was calming to me. With every post on my old blog, I felt a sense of relief. Together she and I pinpointed that I felt like what I posted was effectively “managed” once I hit “Publish.” It was a way to not only put labels on my feelings (Categories and tags), but also a way to distance myself from the things I was tired of feeling too strongly.
For me, turning my life into a story makes it just that, a story. I effectively transform myself from the protagonist to the narrator, and things go from being unbearable to just being things that happened to me–or rather the girl in my stories. But as I said, the blog eventually started to drag me down. While going through each post to make it private, I was able to work backwards through my recent history. Instead of morphing from a happy girl to a depressed one, I went from depressed to joyous and full of life. By the end of it, I felt a real sense of relief. I felt room to breathe, and think about things that weren’t depression-related. I started this blog that same day, and I think it has a slightly different tone, a better one.
In therapy today, I found myself saying that I was holding on to my depression. I think I got to a point where I didn’t know how to define myself without it. It was such a… not easy, but… It was a valid way to explain why I didn’t enjoy dancing as much, or reading, and why I never wanted to do anything, so it became important to me. But on some level, I think there may have been a point in time where I probably was capable of getting out of bed, and I could probably read a book and like it, but I didn’t let myself because I was depressed. It was like a weird self-fulfilling prophecy. I was acting a certain way because of what I thought about myself, and my behavior (or lack thereof) simply served to reaffirm what I was already thinking. A vicious cycle.
Now, the major contributor to my depression is being addressed, I have a job offer, my school work is not majorly stressful (so I don’t constantly feel incompetent or inadequate), and there’s no boyfriend to make me feel less than, either. All the things that were wrong seem to be suddenly going right, and that scares the hell out of me! It feels like a fluke, and I’m so unsettled because what does this mean?
Depression doesn’t just go away one day, but that’s sort of what feels like happened. Part of me is scared this won’t last, but the other (albeit way smaller) part of me is like, “This is what you’ve been working for! It’s not just luck, YOU made this happen, and that’s okay, that’s GOOD!” So now, my struggle lies in letting myself be happy, letting myself relax and lay in bed all day–not because I can’t bring myself to get out of it, but because I feel like being a bum! I’d gotten so used to the feelings associated with and caused by depression, that I think I forgot what it was like not to have it.
Now that I remember, now that I’ve gotten a taste of what I used to be like before the dark clouds, I do not want to go back. I refuse. This isn’t a fluke, and I am determined to make this lack of depression a permanent thing. Know why? Because I am a Goddess in the making. And my chariot awaits.