Mourning Lost Time

There’s nothing like thinking about lost time to drop you into a tailspin of negative feelings.

I suffered a couple really shitty events about three years ago – before I was diagnosed with depression. I knew then that I wasn’t the best at “bouncing” (yeah right, try crawling) back, and I remember wishing I could sleep through the next three months.

I knew that was optimistic, but I never imagined that three years later I’d still be reeling.

Then you’re diagnosed and you realize that it hasn’t been three years. It’s been a lot more than that.

Depression makes it hard to accept that lost time. You know what else makes it hard to accept? The fact that losing whole years REALLY SUCKS. It’s sad and it’s disorienting and it’s completely irreparable.

When I’m doing alright, I know those years weren’t lost. I met and fell in love with a brand new baby cousin during those years. I moved back to my hometown, which I love. I really helped a couple friends when they needed it most. I didn’t lose those years; I spent them, well even. But I also spent a lot of that time really, really sad, and that’s a shitty hand to be dealt. It’s not the worst hand, but it’s a shitty hand.

You know how it goes. There’s not a lot to be done about it.

In large part, depression got those three years, and more. I’m going to do my fucking best to get the next three years. And more.

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