For me, it’s easy to tell when I’m depressed and when I’m in recovery. Although, I can hardly ever see those times coming. Sure, there are times when things start to feel a bit lighter. And, there has been a time when I was so self aware I could see each piece of depression consuming me until I was numb. 

The depression signs are different for everyone. This previous time hit me out of no where. I’d say it began showing up on Friday, I was on a date and I was drinking heavily. I don’t drink with people I don’t trust unless I’m upset by something but, I ignored it. Saturday was met by a hangover, easily dismissing my need to stay in bed all day. That Saturday morning I also had a missed call from someone who I purposefully try to keep out of my life. Yet, I ignored the impact it had on me. Sunday was a movie that triggered my anxiety. This movie had to do with mental abuse. And while for most of the movie I tried to ignore it, it began to take a toll on my mind.

The next sign I was falling into depression was the anxiety attack I had after the movie. I harmed myself which I have not done in a long time. I stumbled right into the pit of depression’s hell. I could only feel the overwhelming saddness. I felt sorry for myself. Not in the unhealthy, please pity me, kind of way. I felt sorry for myself in a way you’d feel sorry for someone you love dearly. I cried, and cried. I was crying over my past, my present, and in fear of the future. I should have known depression was around the corner when I cried myself to sleep that night.

I woke up that Monday morning feeling completely numb. Depression had stolen all of my emotions again, but I had yet to realize it. I ended up calling someone who I knew could make me feel, they had the power over my emotions just in their voice alone. I cried, I laughed, and I got angry all in the same phone call. I felt something, so I couldn’t have been depressed, just anxious.

Eventually, on Tuesday I realized I was officially depressed. I classify being officially depressed ( for myself, not others) as losing all emotion. I can’t feel anything at this point, except for self inflicted pain. And that’s what I did.

With Wednesday came healing and recovery. I walked into my therapy appointment ready to admit to hurting myself. Thankfully, he didn’t make me sign some bullshit contract stating I’ll never do it again. He gave me actual advice to keep me going and out of the hospital, which is where I was headed if I didn’t do something. 

I still felt numb throughout the day, unable to process any sort of emotion. Unable to process most of my thoughts, actually. This was quite frustrating as I had a work assignment to do as well as a date.

When I got home, the anxiety quickly came back to the surface as my Toxic person messaged me. They made me feel worthless, useless, mean, guilty, and most of all, desperate. Finally, I felt something. I told this person I would not be in contact with them any longer, he didn’t like that too much. He responded by trying to make me feel mentally insane and clingy. He tried to make me feel as if there were no hope for me. 

Something in me snapped and the depression was literally gone. In an instant, it vanished. I felt anger, I felt protective of myself. I stood up with an evil grin on my face and fought for myself with pride. I didn’t even need a cigarette to get through the moment as I was finally strong enough to stand on my own two feet again.

This morning, Thursday morning, came the greatest step to recovery I’d had. I sat outside, I drank my coffee as usual, but I didn’t stay there. I set a time limit, and I got up and got ready for the day. I went out and I conquered. I completed my work assignment and received compliments on it. By the time I was done, sure I was mentally exhausted, but I was proud of myself.

This is how bad my bedroom had gotten in just a few days. Yes, it’s been worse, but it’s also been better. Trash, strains, dirty laundry covered my room. My room was contributing to my depression. Feeding me those worthless thoughts.

 I strongly believe that your living space reflects your mind. And my mind was a mess. So, the first thing I do, since I’m a visual person, is to begin cleaning.

It’s still not perfect, but the stain is cleaned up and there’s a new light bulb in my lamp. Sure, there’s no sheets on my bed, but  the dirty laundry is with the other dirty laundry. Which is taking up my entire living room but, I shall tackle that tomorrow.

Why am I putting it off until tomorrow? Well, because I also did my dishes. Recovery takes time and I’m for damn sure not going to race through it because who knows when the next depressive episode could hit. It could be years, it could be seconds. I refuse to live in fear of that, so I’m taking my time to recover. I’m not going on force myself this time. Each day will have a different task. Each day I will conquer a new challenge. 

Even my patio is starting to look a little better, and thank God because this is where I pretty much live. 

Today, I took steps to stand on my own. I went to a coffee shop and worked. I ran some errands and forced myself to eat something. I ate for the first time in three days. I was stronger today than I had ever been before. I knew in this moment I’d gotten my life back. And now, I have the inspiration I’ve been needing to write a certain story. Be thankful for every little thing.



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