I think of my depression as a cliff that I walk along side. Most of the time it’s at a safe distance - I’m on the trail next to it, aware it’s there, but not overly concerned. Occasionally I’ll go and frolic in the meadow and the idea it even exists feels foreign and ridiculous to me. And then, seemingly without warning, I’ll be at the edge, frantically grabbing at everything I can to hold me up, keep me steady, don’t let me fall too far. For the past few months, I’ve been having all night dance parties in the meadow and, if I’m honest, I got cavalier. I stopped doing the things I know keep me healthy because, even though my mouth was saying this is something I will always carry with me and need to maintain, I was secretly pretty sure I’d beaten it. ⠀⠀
Um, I haven’t. ⠀⠀
It’s been a long two weeks of rawness, shutting down, and getting through, which is not how I want to be living. I’ve been here many times before though and, even though I always fear I’ve fallen in too deep this time and this is my new normal, it always lifts and I find my way back out and before you know it, I’m all “Making peanut butter sandwiches was exhausting?!? I can make 47 right now with my eyes closed while doing the can-can!” ⠀⠀
On the plus side, I know now, unequivocally, what I’ve been doing to stay healthy is actually working, which feels highly motivating and makes me less devastated about my significant pizza losses. Because, trust me, my feelings towards pizza are deep and real, but not worth a trip to the bottom. ⠀⠀
You guys, regardless of where you are - firmly on the path, partying in the meadow, looking up at us from the bottom - know it’s okay and you’re okay and this too shall pass. ❤️❤️❤️And, future Kara, I know the pizza looks good but, um, 👆🏼.