"You can’t beat yourself up and say 'I love you' at the same time. It’s just impossible."
I hate being down. I’m sure we all do.
It’s not a well feeling, or something any of us consciously go toward. These things just happen. Life is as life is, and will do as life does.
When I was younger—quite honestly up until these past recent years—I would get depressed or prepare for an episode of upcoming depression the moment I realized I was happy after a period of time. It really doesn’t sound that crazy, because I’m sure we’ve all experienced this in some form or another.
You’re just… happy.
Shit in life is going pretty good. As good as life’s shit can go, considering. You’ve got your ducks in a row—whatever that looks like for you. Car, work, daily routine. That good, looping routine where things are actually looking up. Work isn't bad. Your friendships and relationships don't suck. You’ve got food in the house, something to drink or smoke if that’s your twist. Life is doing its thing, but you are actually lifeing with it instead of fighting against it.
Shit is good.
Then one day you’re chilling on your living room couch, cooking dinner, laughing, talking on the phone, or watching Netflix—and the thought comes in like an invading son of a bitch:
"You’ve been awfully happy lately, sooooo… when is that gonna get fucked up?"
And then you wait.
One tiny little inkling of a seed, and now you’re just waiting. Your thoughts form faster than you’d like, stacking like factual flies: "Yeah, it’s been a week or two of consistent happiness and no fuck-ups. This is most certainly temporary."
Tell me I’m not the only one who has done this. Who has stood amidst their own thoughts, slowly waiting for the next drowning of depression to come in like ocean waves.
THIS DOES YOU NO GOOD.
I know you probably won’t believe me, but it’s true. And there is a way through it:
PRACTICE.
You must start within—with that tiny voice that creeps into your thoughts like it owns the place.
It doesn't. You were happy before, and you can be happy again.
You want to know something I had to admit? I had to dig deep to understand the why behind this. It was the simple fact that I didn’t believe I deserved to be happy.
It was a gift from trauma, sure—but also the trap of falling into "playing the victim."
Which brought me to another truth I’m learning: BOTH THINGS CAN BE TRUE.
You can be a victim, and you can play one too. You can fall victim to your own self, to your own trauma, to the things that happened to you that were so wildly out of your control.
DON'T.
But again, this must be a heavy practice. You have to hold yourself so very tight. When shit gets fucked up—and you know it will—you have to show up. The same way you show up for your friends, your family, your partner.
We pour paragraphs, endless conversations, overexplaining, over-promising, and dedicating ourselves to situations, people, and places. So do all of that and pour that shit BACK INTO YOU.
By all means necessary: put yourself first. And that means you’ve got to stop wallowing in: THE DROWNING.