I’ve had three stories published to, The Mighty. I’ve written a couple posts for a charity, and I continuously publish my own pieces. Yet, none of this has made me feel actual joy until today.
It wasn’t until I saw that my last piece was published, that I began to feel proud of myself. I’ve been so consumed by depression lately that it has been impossible to feel joy or happiness. It has been impossible to recognize my achievements. Today, I celebrate my writing.
I sent in a story about how I was trying, but I wasn’t strong. Rereading this piece almost brought tears to my eyes. I hadn’t remembered exactly what I wrote, it didn’t even sound like me.
I’m currently in recovery from depression, I’m content and fairly happy. Reading something so sad, so emotional was like reading something from another person. I felt sorry for that person, I wanted to hold them.
Truth is, when I’m depressed I am another person. I’m a child, almost. I’m scared, hurt, desperate, and alone. I’m terrified. That’s not who I am while in recovery.
It’s such a great feeling to see my work being published, I hope to continue on this journey and to inspire others like me.