People look at me and my life and think I'm just not trying very hard - that I'm overly privileged because I can just drop everything and stay cooped up in my house. But they don't realise that every single day of my life is a struggle just to stay alive. If it weren't for my fighting spirit, I feel as though my body would've just given up and I'd have faded from existence a long time ago. But no, my spirit keeps me going, driving me from one day to the other in hopes that I might be able to climb back up out of the hole I fell into and just live! I'm still here because of hope and because of those little moments like with the homemade mocha. All of the little things culminate into something great that keeps me going.
Depression can be defined in its most simplistic form as pressing down on something or someone. Depression is a pressure or force on the body and the mind, which can be caused by both external and internal sources. But, ironically, an atmospheric depression seems to release this pressure, making the weight on my shoulders seem to vanish. That feeling is so pivotal because of its antithetical nature to my depression. I welcome the storms. I embrace and love the storms - especially that peaceful moment just before. I may not be able to access that wonderful, powerful, amazing part of my mind anymore, but I feel that - one day - I'll be able to dig and dig deep enough that it'll come bursting out. And it is hope that makes me believe - a force greater than the forces of nature. Hope is the driving force of humanity, and it has gotten me this far. If I give up on hope, now, it'll be like swimming half-way and then turning back.
I once nearly drowned. I was just four or five years old. Most people think that drowning would be extremely scary, but I don't think that. As the water filled my lungs, I quickly began to lose oxygen to my brain. This caused me to begin to fall into a very dreamy state. I didn't feel any kind of pain and can't even remember pain. The process was amazingly fast. I may have struggled at first, as anyone would, but I don't really remember that part, either. What I remember most was this amazing peacefulness I felt. Everything started to become dark and my eyes began to close, the sunlight above refracting into the pool water. I stopped thinking - I wasn't really in a conscious state, but I was still oddly aware. I saw a humanoid shadow block out the sun and start to come to me when everything went dark. Moments later, I was wide awake, chlorinated water spewing out one horrible cough at a time.
I know I was terrified, especially afterward. I had trouble learning to swim for years and years afterward, completely petrified of water that merely went higher than my nose, let alone truly deep water. But I also had a growing fascination with water. Some of the most peaceful moments in life come from the most tragic of moments. Sometimes, horror breeds purity and calm. I think this is how some of my deepest depressions were; I would have some of the calmest, most tranquil moments when I was the most depressed and hit the rockiest of bottoms. I'd watch the sun rise and let life hand me the self-therapy I needed so direly. Seeing the quiet, lovely nature that somehow manages to survive amongst all of the asphalt and concrete, when cars aren't driving about and people aren't yet awake, and the world is still for a brief period, I could find peace.
I've never really been able to find true meaningfulness in life without crashing badly. Steady moods were stagnant and unproductive. Highs were more delusional, temporary, and empty. But those lingering lows that took so long to climb out of were like trials for my soul to bring about enlightenment. And when I'd rise, I'd rise a little taller. Depression tempers the soul into a finer, sharper steel, wrought out of the blackest, most brittle iron. It's a very difficult process, and takes its toll time after time, but it always imparts something a little greater.
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