Essay 118: Enjoying life again

It’s that time again of wanting to write and drawing a blank. Not knowing what I want to say and wondering if there’s value in saying anything at all anyway. I process my emotions through writing and inspiration comes more easily when I am sad or stressed. Thankfully, right now, I am neither.

Happy times call for exploring the real world instead of losing myself in my thoughts. Joy propels me to be near the ocean or in my husband’s arms, not to sit on the couch to cogitate with a keyboard on my lap.

For most of my life, I was a highly functioning depressed woman. Most people close to me couldn’t have guessed it.
I had a great life and I couldn’t enjoy it. It kept getting worse, and I kept feeling bad about myself, wondering what on earth was wrong with me and why I couldn’t just change. I now know: my body does not produce/process serotonin effectively. My brain chemicals were not conducive to being happy no matter how hard I focused on positive thoughts; no matter how often I repeated positive affirmations; no matter how religiously I exercised; no matter how diligently I chose healthy foods. It wasn’t my fault.

Yet, part of me remained healthy enough to know it was not normal. Most of the time, I could observe my irrational behavior and judge it rationally for what it was. With extreme discipline, I could control most of those negative urges but it became harder and harder. Darkness pulled stronger and stronger. Healthy me was in real danger of being swallowed up and decided to fight what she knew may be the last great battle.

Healthy me wanted to live.
Healthy me knew there had to be a better way.
Healthy me won the battle and is now striving.
Now that I am taking medication, I am soaking up the beauty that had been invisible to me for so long.

It’s miraculously, wondrously, positively fabulous.
It’s supercalifragilisticexpialidocius.

See I make corny jokes now. My husband is still getting used to it.

Last night I suggested he throw his dirty shirt into the empty laundry basket, knowing full well there were none since we had just come back from a trip. I chuckled as I heard him going in circles in the laundry room searching. He didn’t realize I was teasing until I told him. Ha!

Humor and laughter. Connection.

When my daughter called out from her bed at 10.15 pm last night to announce she was hungry, I didn’t go berzerk as I would have before. Instead, I carried her into the living room, handed her a banana which she ate with a smile on her face. Then she walked back to her bed and immediately fell asleep.

Patience and comfort. Connection.

This is our new reality and we’re all enjoying the transformation.

It feels like budding love.
Falling in love with life.
Falling in love with myself.

The beginning!
It feels like it should…finally