I have expected this actually. The idle life may have been the dreams of many, sometimes even I, but I have long known how it has never suited me. Although chores and family gatherings are no means of idleness, but it was the same environment as when it was during my grim days; you could say the days were inked with a different shade of dark.
But I am not completely fallen. I still believe in things I should believe. I still have faith in my heart, and it has by no means wavered. Many said that this would strengthen me, but even if it had not broken me, I don’t think I gained any fortitude. I praised Him, I rely on Him, I ask forgiveness from Him but at the end of the day, my heart worries. And if I poked my head too long over the edge, my breath stiffens, my pulse sprints out of the door and my mind crashed with waves of blinding light. Afraid of any circumstances, good or bad, I am stuck with my heart gripped tightly in my hands.
This confuses me. And this confusion of mine may emerged from being alarmed by my state of mind. Even when I was subconsciously expecting it, it still knocked me off guard – and it was only just the beginning. Somehow while expecting it, it still surprised me how it was possible for me to be in this condition. How come? I thought my faith helped me in conquering it? Did I made a mistake somewhere? Am I ever going to feel normal at all?
But you know what? Depression is not so black-and-white. And even if half of me is deteriorating, I know that the other half will tirelessly hold on. For the sake of what previously had saved me from this state, for the sake of my faith, for the sake of Him. Reading between the lines, flipping through the past pages, I realise that sentence I once used in my first post is glaringly real now:
I am not denying the pitch black darkness of my past; I am revitalising and taking in the sights. I am embracing the young, naive me and gently easing her to a – not a bleached clean slate – but maybe, more of an isabelline, parchment coloured one.
A lot has happened in the span of a month after my first year ended. Family history unfurled, I was introduced with the infamous bona fide greed of men, and was gifted with a break, even if the illusion of the break was as solid as a mirage.
Slowly, yet surely, I could feel the worldly desires I once evicted from my life came slithering back through the spaces in my bones, through the slight tremor of my nerves, through the quiver of my qalb.
I am weak. I have always been. I was weak before and I am weak now. He knew it. They knew it – and they have launched their first attack.
And I will N O T back down.
“…What is the conclusion? How did those people who have better lives even with bigger depression manage to get through? What is the mechanism of resilience? And what I came up with over time was that the people who deny their experience, and say, “I was depressed a long time ago, I never want to think about it again, I’m not going to look at it and I’m just going to get on with my life,” ironically, those are the people who are most enslaved by what they have. Shutting out the depression strengthens it. While you hide from it, it grows. And the people who do better are the ones who are able to tolerate the fact that they have this condition. Those who can tolerate their depression are the ones who achieve resilience.”