The Thief of Joy
Recovery from depression is actually pretty fucking depressing.
My recovery and enthusiasm for living once again have force me to realise just what I’ve lost due to depression and anxiety.
I lost the first few years of my children's lives through being present but emotionally absent, once cherished family members are now strangers, I lost my career which at one time was everything to me and I’ve also come to the harsh reality that I lost my friends.
Every single last one of them.
I’m not sure I can blame them, how many times can you cancel on a person because you’re too scared to leave the house, how many times can you go out and seem distant at the same time?
Over the course of 7 years it seems it can happen too many times before the phone stops ringing, the birthday and Christmas cards stop falling on the door matt or invites to go for coffee stop being made.
When I couldn’t even make sense of what was going on, I could hardly explain it to others, let alone hope for them to understand.
It’s a devastating blow to actually accept what I’ve lost; having no one to shoot the shit with, no one to go to when I need a laugh or a vent, no one to meet up for a coffee when I just want to get out the house.
I wish I’d known what the past 7 years would have cost me, perhaps I could have worked harder to keep hold of the people in my life, or not.
Maybe it was inevitable, as I come through the dark fog after years of depression perhaps it’s time for the new me to find a new them.
Until then, it’s a pretty bleak and lonely future when you’re doing it alone.