A few days ago, I was torturing myself again. I felt like I was on the verge of depression again. I’ve had major depressive episodes in the past. It just kept on coming back time and time again. Every time it would come back, I would always be in a mission to wipe it in my life – forever. That expectation – that I can wipe it away forever – only made me feel like a failure every time it comes back.
I would go back to my toxic cycle of interrogating myself: Why am I depressive? Why can’t I simply be like those people who seem to just roll through in life, always bubbly and strong? Why do I feel so much? Why do I think so much? Why do I give so much importance to almost every single thing when other people can afford not to care? Am I ever gonna live without depression? Is it just part of my identity? And if it is, does it mean I am fucked up? Maybe I’m just an ungrateful kid? Why can’t I just focus on the bright side and religiously keep a gratitude journal? Maybe that’s gonna solve my problem?
It already sucks to be depressed. But beating yourself out because you’re depressed is just hell.
I no longer believe in an organized religion (although I grew up Catholic). But some religious teachings make sense to me. I am grateful for them and I allow them to guide my life.
Lately I realized that maybe some burdens are just chronic. Maybe we just gotta learn how to live with them. Maybe it’s true that each of us has a cross to bear. Maybe depression is my cross.
And while I’m not intending to romanticize depression (because it’s simply hell, period), there’s a part of me that believes that there is something good about it as well. I am depressive partly because I am sensitive, I am reflective and I care. It’s probably partly because of my upbringing as well, my genes, where I live and how my life has been. It’s also partly because of my sex and nationality. Would I change any of these things if it means wiping out my tendency to be depressed? I don’t think so. I can’t do that. I won’t wanna do that. Doing so would mean I’d have a different family, friends, different skills and different experiences in life. I won’t ever trade them for a life without depression even if it means that I’d have to be tortured for life. Having a different life would be worse.
Maybe to avoid feeling so defeated, maybe I just gotta accept my cross and learn how to live with it. Maybe this is also a part of accepting myself. I trust in my cross, I trust in my path, I trust that I can also turn this burden into my armor and a source of love and compassion.
Maybe through my struggle with thoughts of wanting to die, I’d find my own purpose and will to live.