I come home from work at night, to a nice house, with a fridge and pantry full of food, a sturdy roof over my head, and a warm and cozy bed to sleep in…
…and waiting for me there is my loving, devoted wife of nearly 33 years, along with my two precious, beautiful black cats, who are excited that Dad’s home, and it hits me how incredibly fortunate I am…
…and in that moment, I’m as happy as I’ve ever been in my life. Even better, I have this moment five times a week!
But, then, there’s this depression thing…
…that shows up from time to time, uninvited, and pulls me down into an overwhelming blackness, where it goes through its regular pitch about how life really sucks, how nothing you want to do is really worth the effort, how the world is evermore rapidly declining so what’s the point, and how you’re just a worthless, useless, hopeless piece of nothing, and why are you still even around…
…and, obviously, I’m not so happy, then.
And, too often, I will visit both these ends of the spectrum in the same day.
It certainly isn’t boring.
Of course, the depression never really leaves. Even in my happy moments, there is still this undercurrent of anger, which is how depression typically shows up in men.
What am I angry about, you ask? Well, any number of things, but mostly, I stay angry at myself for mistakes I’ve made, and continue to make, in my life.
Yeah, I know we all make them, and I shouldn’t be so tough on myself, forgive and forget, etc.
But, even when I can bring myself to forgive, which isn’t always, I can never seem to pull off that forget part.
I mean, how can I forget? It happened, it’s in my memory; how am I supposed to get it out? That’s what I struggle with. I envy people like my wife, who can just let stuff go, and put things behind her, and it seems like it should just be so easy, but it isn’t for me.
For one, certain circumstances in my life are constant reminders of some past mistake. It’s kind of hard to forget something you’ve done when you’re always reminded of it, you know?
I guess I should talk to someone about this. Besides all of you, I mean. A professional. Someone who can maybe help me cut loose all this weight I’m dragging around.
My body already drags enough around, as is.
I do cherish the happy times, though, when they come. I do, really. I’d just like them to come more often, and the other times, less often.
I’d like that very much.