I was at the beach.
It was spur of the moment but I was craving the water, the breeze and the serenity; when you’re living in Florida all of that is usually 10 or 15 minutes away. I picked a nice spot, put my stuff down as quickly as I could and put myself in that water. There is definitely a healing element to it. I tried to release everything that was heavy on me: the reality that the woman and relationship I moved to Florida for were no good for me and the truth that living in Florida didn’t feel like the best fit. The undeniable build up of repression I was feeling constrict around me. The questions of “Who AM I?” and “What do I truly want?” that seemed to constantly prod me.
I was at a stretch of the beach I hadn’t been to before and I was practically alone. There in the ocean as I looked out at the endless vastness of it I started walking closer to it. The shore started to get further away. With each step I took toward that vastness three words kept getting louder: just keep walking. I stopped to face these words and that’s when it happened. I stopped playing dumb with what I was feeling and called it what it was. I don’t want to be here anymore. If I keep walking I can end it. What is there really to go back to past that shore? I can just let the water take me. Stop being scared and just do it; if life is going to feel this way then what am I waiting for?
I was talking out loud at this point and was taking smaller steps toward the vastness now. It was this moment, I now know, where Depression had its hooks in me. Me, a person who didn’t even think Depression was real at one point in time. I’d never been diagnosed with any mental disorders. I’d never felt like a problem was too big or that I ever really had a problem at all. But I wanted to die.
With me struggling to keep the water level at my chin and the sun going down I decided to turn back. In the moment this felt like yet another defeat but I am super grateful that I did. When I got back to the shore I only somewhat realized the seriousness of it all and how genuine I was about not coming back. The further I got from the beach, though, the lighter I felt. I didn’t have answers but I did have question I wasn’t afraid to ask anymore and feelings I wasn’t afraid to confront. Facing some form of death in that ocean gave me the balls to decide if life was worth living and what that would look like.
Sooo…At first, I felt I needed to share this story only for the sake of context for this post. But being completely honest, I think I needed to do this for myself and for any readers I might get. It’s a moment I never want to gloss over and I want whoever is reading this to see ME and all of the messy, awkward, imperfect instances that make up this guy and to be able to find the courage to face their own.
Aight, now to the pic I paired with this post.
I came across Allie Brosh’s Hyperbole and a Half thanks to a good friend at work and it just so happened to be around the time I was having my own bouts with being depressed…pretty dope timing I’d say. It was EXACTLY what I needed! Her humor is the perfect balance of silliness and dry wit, self-deprecation and acceptance. I felt it showed what is needed to tackle the gravity of momentary depression or if it is a monster you face daily.
The book isn't just about depression but owning one's own quirks and weirdness, which I feel empowers us to face those tough spaces we'll find ourselves in from time to time. When you can laugh at, be transparent with, admit flaws within yourself I think you disarm the thing that depression or just funky moods are propelled by...fear and pain.
I hope sharing my experience and this reading suggestion helps others to confront their own depressed moments and find reason to laugh at and love their weirdness.