Surfing Depression

I had planned on blogging about an article, or some cute animals or something, before I got to the next one of these. Alas, the world, it has other plans for me.

I feel like the image of depression as waves is a useful metaphor. It accurately describes the swing of one's emotions (even healthy emotions) and can be extended over any time period. Below, I've described what I feel is the worst part of the wave.

The hardest time is always right after I’ve had a good run. I’ve crested the wave of being a functioning person and am racing into the trough.

It starts with the smallest battles I’d won on the way up. They build, just like the last time. “It’s okay that you forgot to empty the teapot, it was only an hour ago, you can still do it now.” Except this time, I wouldn’t remember an hour later, I’d be the day after by Nicky, while I’m at the shops buying milk and have no hope of saying, “Oh, sorry about that, here, I’ll clean that out.”

So I’ve made one mistake. Surely that’s not too bad, right? I might be able to keep on top of this if that’s all it is.

But then there’s something else. There always is. One other thing that gets me on the lookout for anything else I’ve done wrong. And then it grows. It piles on again. And every tiny thing that didn’t faze me yesterday is suddenly rearing up in front of me, immoveable.

The most awful part of it all is that I’m watching it happen. When you’re at the bottom, in the deepest state of horridness, you can’t even comprehend being happy. At this stage, halfway down, you can still see the top. You focus on it and yearn for it and that makes it all the more painful to know that you can’t get back up there. All you can do is hope that this time won’t be as bad, that this is the worst it will get and before you know it, you’ll be on the crest of the next wave.