My version may be different but it doesn't mean it's bad.
I was asked what happiness feels like when you have depression. I'll admit: This was tough to quantify and even tougher to put into words.
Depression, for me, turns happiness into more of an acceptance than anything.
I accept that I am not perfect.
I accept that no one is perfect.
I accept that I am going to die one day and I have no idea what, if anything, happens after that.
I accept that I am depressed, and that this is just one blip in my life.
In my depression, I tend to think “how could I ever be happy after realizing/accepting all of this?” Accepting death? Accepting that I am far from anything close to perfect? Accepting that there are many things that I cannot control? Accepting that in the end, everything I do may equal out to zero?
When man plans, God laughs, right?
The tail end of a depressed episode is less about happiness and more about realizing and accepting that I have to roll with the punches and remember that everyone lives and dies in one way or another.
One thing I remind myself of is that cats sleep for more than half of their lives and they seem totally chill and content with it.
Maybe life doesn’t have to be this spectacular event filled with fame and recognition. Maybe it can be great in a different way. Maybe all it takes is doing everything you can to achieve your goals and dreams.
Maybe you won’t get the job of your dreams, but you can certainly save up enough money to hike through the Grand Canyon one day.
Or maybe you won’t be famous or widely remembered, maybe you’ll just meet a ton of great and interesting people
Maybe you won’t travel the world, but you’ll read so many books that your mind contains universes.
I don’t want to say satisfaction and acceptance is a choice, because that’s really only a thought you can believe when you’re feeling okay with your life at the moment. But, we do have some say in it. We can’t necessarily do everything, but we can certainly do something.
That’s what I learn over and over whenever I escape my feats of depression. That I have to do something.
But it takes a while for my mind to accept that sort of thing. In the end, it’s a balancing act between hope and my perception of reality. Like walking a tightrope.
All you have to do is not fall.