Sometimes, I’m reminded of how stuck I was and a part of me misses that feeling. I’ve never fully understood why I’ve (at times) missed when I was depressed. I think when I first recognized this feeling, I confused it with missing being depressed. But that’s not it.
At times, I miss when I was depressed. I miss when my heart was so sensitive that I’d cry my eyes out to some sad songs on repeat. I’d feel the music in a way that I couldn’t comprehend. I was connected to something so real and crying my eyes out to certain songs was so therapeutic honestly.
At times, I miss when I was depressed. I miss feeling proud of small accomplishments like making it to work one day or finishing a class assignment despite lacking all motivation.
At times, I miss when I was depressed. I miss reading poetry and short stories about others who were struggling and being reminded that I wasn’t alone in the world.
And there it finally is. I miss intensely feeling life. I’ve struggled with depression for years but I’d say I’ve been doing well for about two or so years now. In doing well, I’ve noticed my connection and pull to music has faded. I’ll listen to songs that I feel genuinely saved my life and remember my pain back then, but the overall connection has changed. In doing well, I don’t take much notice of small accomplishments because my personal expectation is much higher now. In doing well, my relationships with people have changed. I can listen to someone’s story and empathize with them, but I’ll feel so far away from their pain.
But how did I intensely feel anything when I was depressed? For some people, depression can dull everything in your life. Colors aren’t as bright and vivid. Joyous moments come few and far between. But in being depressed for many years, random things started becoming more vivid for me: music, writing, reading. These aspects of my life kept me alive and when I finally pulled myself out of the metaphorical hole, it seems as though I had left my vivid aspects behind. I’m trying desperately to get them back because I feel like in healing myself, I lost a part of me. An important part of me. The resilient part. The intensely emotional part. The “I should probably not repeat this depressing song for a 7th time because I am bawling” part. The part of me that knew, one day, I’d make it and things would be okay.
I’m at that part of my life where things are better than okay… I have two fur babies, a loving fiancé, wonderful parents, supportive friends, and a stable/healthy work environment. But at times, I miss feeling life so vividly.
I am so thankful that my vivid aspects found me and saved me. I truly hope I could convey in this post that I do not wish to experience the pain that those with depression most often feel. It is a battle I hope to never fight again because it got ugly there for a while. But I learned things about myself during that battle and I hope to find those little bits of myself again, especially when I can tell my old self that we made it. Things are okay. Life got better. It legitimately got better, like we always said.
Please keep fighting. It does, in fact, get better.✨