On Depression: A bit about my own story

September 30, 2011

San Francisco, California


You’ll notice that I skip some days on here. This is not because I don’t care or because I don’t feel like being attentive to readers and writers or because I don’t like these projects or stories. No, it’s not that.

Part of my own story is depression. Though I’ve struggled through days, weeks, and months of depressions for years (for as long as I can remember? Could be.) I’ve only started confronting it nearly two years ago.

On some days, I like to challenge my depression. Wave a red flag in front of it and see what I can do. This is, of course, important in overcoming it and living a fulfilling and satisfied life (and is it also for the thrill? I think so) despite the strings of despair and disinterest that sometimes trap me like a marionette.

Just as importantly, on some days I must succumb to the lows, remind myself it’s okay, and accept them and be familiar with them and with myself.

On days when I don’t post something, one of these two things is happening. I am either waving a red flag, taunting my depression and beckoning it to dare come after me, or I’m letting the waves wash over me. Sometimes, doing one means doing both, as contradictory as that may sound.

When I don’t stick to the “every day” promise of my title, know that this is what I’m doing, and that the silent stories are just as important as the vocalized stories themselves.


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