For the first time since the Henrik disaster; since my father-in-law, my best friend's wife and my mother died; since the GFC and all that meant for me and our income--for the first time I feel OK.
People always equate sadness and depression. But they're not the same at all. Believe me, I know. Sadness is pain; it hurts. It's alive. Depression is a nothingness, an emptiness, a greyness. First there was sadness and grief. Then came depression. But slowly that greyness has faded. I won't say I have the energy and joie-de-vivre I had 7 years ago, or when I was young, but I feel better. It's been a horrible journey; I've been to hell and back, but I've survived.
I've learnt some good lessons. I shan't trust love or men again. I shall go on looking for things to be grateful for, making my little lists each day. But I shall be content. Which isn't the same as 'happy' but may be better in the end. Contentment is far better than depression.
I think I'm going to nuke the secret on-line diary I've been keeping all this time. It helped when I needed it: somebody to vent to, somebody to let my bitterness and anger and depression out to. None of my 'friends' helped. That too is a useful lesson. Just because I'm no longer depressed doesn't mean I don't remember. Even if I forgive.
And start saving for our visit to Paris, one day. I want to see it once again before I die.
Onwards and upwards.
