Which would you prefer: a wild, turbulent life filled with joy, sorrow, passion, and adventure – intoxicating successes and stunning setbacks; or a happy, secure, predictable life surrounded by friends and family without such wide swings of fortune and mood?
I’m going to say the calmer life. I’m still depressed enough to want no emotions/feelings over having them at all. I’m currently in a better place than a few weeks ago drug/emotion wise, but not completely healed (will I ever be).
To be honest, I’m living the calmer life right now and have been living it. No real exciting successes; more devastating setbacks, that’s for sure. Not going to list the setbacks, but it might be good for me to try to remember the successes.
Suzanne was definitely a success. My life was changed for the better meeting her, being with her, and loving her. On the flip side, the 10+ years of me getting over her has been devastating to say the least.
Becoming a manager at SFSU Bookstore was a successful milestone. Point in time where I felt somewhat like an adult with the salary to go with it.
With my depression though, these are the only successes that I can see, although I am sure there has been more. I am still relearning how to be happy and to focus on the happy and not the sad. It’s not easy.
So I would rather have the calmer life. Its something I’ve been striving to, not to be happy, but to be neutral; in the middle of the scale. Going from depressed to happy is far to strenuous for me to do. It’s an unreachable goal in my mind, even now that the medication is helping. I don’t even know what happiness is or means to me. I know pleasure in the fact that I can recognize those things I see, taste, hear, touch, and do that give me pleasure. But these things don’t really make me happy. They are more to keep the sadness/depression away. Some are also borderline addictions that I should take care of. Nothing serious or life threatening, but I should cut back on.
So I would rather have a boring and quieter lifestyle, which I somewhat have now. I goto work part-time on the weekends. No responsibility so it’s only the drama that I manufacture and the occasional stuff from my coworkers, customers, and work itself. Then I’m home cleaning, helping my parents, and wasting my life away. Quietly.
Man, this 500 word count is hard. Have I really degenerated this far from my college days that I can’t even do a 500 word assignment. It’s like this in my written journal too. However in that, I can write bigger to fill up the space. Is this because of my phone? Can I blame it on my depression? Am I stalling at this point? Why yes, I am. Think I still need 50 or some words to put me over the 500 mark. This is really quite sad that I can’t get to 500; how did I ever graduate college?