The worst of depression has been the struggle to find a reason to live. Not only have l felt alone and afraid, but hope has seemed non-existent.
In order for life to be ‘good’, it seems we need a purpose, something to strive for. But depression makes everything seem worthless.
I couldn’t will a purpose, I tried for 7 years, wishing I’d wake up and the suffocating fog would have cleared. Instead, the fog grew thicker, threatening to swallow me whole.
Striving simply to manage my mental health better and better is what has given my life purpose. It hasn’t instilled in me a burning passion or dream. Rather, it has presented a challenge that seems worth facing.
There are moments when frustration takes over, when the difficulty of waking up again to a mind that’s defaulted to overriding fear and an innumerable and indecipherable mix of unpleasant emotions takes its toll.
From a child, I held a fake image of what my future would hold. Of the joy and fulfilment I could find in a job, of my capacity to love, of the strength of faith and the power of a dream.
No one told me that my future might be about facing another day, about finding courage when there seems nothing to base it on, and about learning to love with a heart that feels dry of compassion.
I wasn’t wrong to believe that life could be worthwhile, just in what would lay at the heart of its purpose.