 I can't remember a time when I didn't hate myself. It's a truth that haunts me every day. A ghost that pokes at my heart, my mind. See, here's the thing with depression. It creeps up on you. It might be slow at first, but when it hits you, it chokes you until you cannot breathe. Strange really, how it felt like just months ago I was fine. And now I feel like I'm drowning. But depression doesn't always come slow. No, it can crash upon you like a wave when you are least expecting it. It started with the small things, sleeping in a little later, eating a little less, feeling drowsy, tired and unmotivated, feeling different emotions for no reason at all. Things I brushed off like nothing. Now it stays in bed, now its entire meal skipped, now it's a messy house, now it's numbness. My phone rings, it's 1pm and I'm borrowed beneath a pile of blankets. I really don't want to pick up that call. I just want to go and close my eyes and shut off the buzz of the world. I give myself a quick peek at my phone, and my gut twists when I see it read, mom. I still hesitate, I just want to go back to bed. Why are all these people bothering me? I feel guilty though. My mother is probably worried and I haven't even looked at my phone in three days, as I reluctantly rise. I numbly gather that I am sitting in a room that reeks of rotten food, with piles of laundry rising like towers around me, and somehow I do not care. I don't remember when there was a time that I did. Hi mom, I say weekly. I always cracks with days of unused. Her soft, troubled voice makes me wince. She asks if I'm okay, she asks if I've eaten, she asks if the house is cleaned. I answer shortly to everything. One word responses, and I think that troubles her even more, though I can't know for sure. I'm not quite sure of anything these days. I expect her to ask me these questions, to be concerned for me. It surprises me a little though, when her voice turns hard, and she says, you used to be so much more, now. It's like you are nothing. Hurt comes in a wave that shocks me, for it is one of the darkest feelings I have felt in a very, very long time. It hurts me because she is right, because it is a truth so harsh that strips and reveals me. Two months ago, I was on the verge of promotion in my career, in a healthy relationship and surrounded by supportive friends. Now, I grieve for the life I had. I haven't talked to my partner or friends in days. Work emails flood my inbox, and I surely lost that promotion that I worked so hard to get. It surprises me that this all makes me mourn the life I had. I expect to bury myself back under the sheets of my bed and live the rest of my day away from the world. Instead, though, I find myself peeling back the covers, my feet touching the floor, then walking to the kitchen. I take one look at the kitchen. Dishes piled up high, food scattered all over the counter, and for the first time in weeks, I feel something like a spark festering in my mind. Telling me to clean that dish, wipe down the counters. So, I spend the next hour cleaning my kitchen. My mind is still a little numb, but it gives me help when slowly some of the wheels start turning in my head once again. When the kitchen is spotless, gleaming in a way it hasn't before, I feel so very proud of myself. My eyes shift next to the messy living room, but suddenly the thought of cleaning it overwhelms me. So, I think, baby steps, and then the day with a small smile on my face. Hope, at last, takes root in my heart. I say to myself, thank you for cleaning up. Thank you for knowing your limits. Thank you for trying. The next morning, I convince myself that staying in bed would just be easier. I can feel the momentary high from accomplishing something yesterday wearing off. That numbness is in my mind again, and I just feel so tired. I have no motivation to get up, and I hate myself a little, as I give into my wants and go back to bed. I feel guilty and like a failure. When I spend the day again, borrowed beneath my sheets, avoiding the world, I feel frozen. I feel distant. So much self-hatred burns through me, but I don't have the energy to do anything about it. I feel so many things, but I just can't get up. The next day, I decide it's a new morning with new possibilities. Guilt and remorse still turn in me for wasting a day, but I know I can atone for it by making the most of this one. I make my bed. I even get ready to go for a walk, which I haven't done in months. Just as I'm about to leave, I notice a slip of paper on the counter, and recognize it as my therapist's phone number. The thought of calling her scares me, but I don't even think of it as I slip it into my pocket. The sky is blue. The breeze, gentle. It washes out my mind, clears it out, and suddenly I feel sharp. In a way, I haven't been in a long, long time. For a while, I just walk. Just me in the open sky. And I cannot remember the last time I felt so focused. So sure. Soon, I let my hand reach for the paper with the faded phone number. I stop and stare at it, and for a moment, fear and logic war in my mind. Speaking my feelings and being so vulnerable has always scared me, though I know it is an essential step if I want to have my life back. So I stop as I dial the number. Her voice, calm in its way, floods my ears and relaxes me. She has her way of doing that. Her voice alone, able to take a weight off my shoulders. So right then and there, under the shade of a tree, I pour my heart out to this person who listens and understands. I always feel guilty for burdening others with my issues, but it feels good to at least feel like I'm not so alone. It's hard to come to terms with the fact that some will support your recovery and some will not. Some people don't understand how long it really is that it contains ups and downs. When I go to speak with my mom, she does not understand. She looks frustrated and says, But you used to be so happy. Just be happy again. It's so hard to tell her that it doesn't work like that, because she just doesn't understand mental health very well. It's hard to fight those tears, and I know I shouldn't let my anger get the best of me, but I do. I yell at her. Why can't you just understand? You make everything worse! And I storm away. My mind a flurry of emotions. Doesn't she know I'm trying my best? That night, I crawl into bed, and my mind replays every word I said to my mother. I feel so many things. Anger, regret, repulsion. It's too much. My breathing quickens. I feel lightheaded and my palms become sweaty. I feel like everything is about to come crashing down in for a moment. I think I should welcome it. It's difficult to feel like a burden. Most of my days, I contemplate what a terrible daughter I am, and what a terrible friend I am, especially after my fight with my mom. I feel useless. I must be such a hard person to be around. I just can't stop feeling guilty, because I make everyone's lives so complicated. I often feel like a boulder, and my peers are forced to drag this weight around. I'm so sick of feeling that way. Like someone they have to be careful around. Through my struggles, I try to remember everything my therapist said, that every day is a new chance, a new day I shouldn't waste it over one moment. So I start doing the things I love again. Painting, reading, gardening. They calm my mind, and above all, make me so happy. They rekindle the passion that I knew was always there, but just tucked away. I realized bringing back the things I love is important, because it reminds me that there is just so much to live for. Life can be so very beautiful if you look in the right places. I also begin to be kinder to myself. Instead of punishing myself for every fault, every flaw, I begin to see the small beauties of life once again. They aren't major, huge things, but then again, most beautiful things rarely are. It's a cool breeze on a hot day. It's homemade cookies and lemonade. It's music that calms my mind. These things, I treasure in my heart as it begins to heal from the damage it went through. It has been two weeks. Two weeks of days when I have felt on top of the world, and days when it has gotten crashing down. Today, I step into work. They tell me the inevitable that I've lost my promotion and that I will have to work to earn it back. It hits me all at once. I knew what was coming. I really did, but hearing those words out loud was like a blow to my heart. I thought that I was ready to move on, that I had been doing so great in my recovery that I was strong enough. I think what hurts the most is that this proves that I'm not. Feelings flood into me. I suddenly feel like I can't do this. Like it's so much all at once. So I do what I told myself not to do. I walked away. At first, I feel incredibly guilty and hated that I walked away. I feel like a failure. I feel like everything my mom told me I was. Nothing. Simply a burden to everyone I meet. Why can't I be better? Why can't I be smarter? Why can't I be more adaptable? These questions haunt me for a few days. I feel myself falling back into familiar habits after this one setback, and I hate that above all. It takes me a while to come to terms with the fact that I'm just not ready to go back to work, that healing can take a while, and I have to let that happen before anything else. It's been a few months, and in these months so much has happened. The major difference I made is that I began to remind myself of how I felt when I had those beautiful days, how I felt fulfilled, and how I would think I want this to last forever. It took me a while to realize that this feeling could last forever, if I wanted it to, and that is when my life changed. That being said, if I said that my recovery has been a smooth easy process, I would be lying to you. It was in fact hard and unpredictable and strange as any transition in your life might be. Of course, still, some days are so much better than the last, filled with all those pockets of peace and beauty. Others are filled with exhaustion and blankness, tears and numbness. No one claimed it was to be easy or smooth. No, it's filled with tears and grief and everything in between, but maybe there's some beauty in that process too.