It was about this time last year that I began fully experiencing the bout of depression that ultimately sent me into the hospital for the first time. I know a lot more about that period now, in hindsight. I know that it was a contraction in response to what probably amounts to months, maybe even a year or so, of trying too hard. I tend to do that a lot… try too hard.
I think about the past few years and remember all the weird chances and strange decisions I made, often in the heat of the moment. I think about what it has taken to move past that kind of thinking and into what I now experience. I think about “normal” and how much I honestly hate that word. I think about the nasty, funky low and how little of it my brain mercifully has allowed into my long-term memory. I think about being a patient again instead of a grown man with a family.
Tomorrow is tomorrow and I’ll be just fine then too, in all likelihood. I’ll still try too hard, but it’ll feel like less of an earthquake when I occasionally fall on my face. It also means that most of the time, I’ll see myself doing it and course correct. I’m getting better at it all the time and even though it feels different, it doesn’t feel bad.