I sat on the floor in my apartment, my head resting against the wall.
It is back.
And I don’t want it.
This feeling. The tears. That fear.
That internal scream that I tried to hide by swallowing it back as hard as I could, making me nauseous in the process. It puts pressure on my throat and I wish I could open my lips and let the scream out, but I don’t want to let this feeling in.

I reject it with all that I have. I am keeping it out, I am shielding myself from a darker inner me. That is what I had promised to myself a long time ago: to never welcome this feeling back. But after rejecting this feeling for some time, realization hit me. Depression was hitting me once again.

I feel a bit like the cherry tree in my garden. The tree attracts many birds, and the birds I notice tell me how I feel. When I see robins and pigeons I feel rather good, but when the raven comes in sight, the atmosphere turns dark again. Maybe its because ravens are black, and black is what all dark metaphors come down to: depression. Or maybe it is because ravens are always portrayed as these creatures of death and despair… Unholy, even.

The cherry tree loses all her leaves in autumn, but I know that these leaves will grow again from the cherry blossom she will regain in spring. That is how I feel right now. It feels as if I am losing my leaves, that they are falling off, the sky grows dark and cold and I grow more naked. Yet the path in front of me will lead me to spring again, where my leaves will regrow. I will regrow, into a happier person again.

Winters aren’t always that cold. Depression shouldn’t always be hitting as hard as it did the last time. The blue sky never reminds me of me feeling blue, and neither does my blue carpet, or my blue blanket that covers me at night. I still feel alive. Empty, maybe, but alive. And I cherish that feeling, for I know what it is like when even that feeling is gone.

Perhaps I had expected it. But it always hits like a rock. I sat on the ground, knees up to my chest, crying my eyes out as I suddenly realized: this is what I used to do… when I felt utterly down. And here I was again. I looked at the tv screen, but could not comprehend the images my eyes saw. It was bright, I knew that, but I couldn’t see much through the tears. I kept cursing under my breath, whispering names to my darker inner me.
Fuck you, depression. You suck.

It has been a part of me, and I had found peace with that idea. But what I have not found peace with is it being as present as it is again. We made a deal, depression, you’d hit me once but never again like that. A part of you could stay, but not as much as is present now. You didn’t keep your end of the bargain, so I won’t keep mine.

I will fight you with everything that I have. You will make me tired, you will make me hate myself again, but I have found my ways and I will overcome. I know I will. I have done it before, so I can and I will do it again. I am a warrior that has conquered a darker inner me. That voice is there, but it is not my voice. It never will be my voice. It has always been your voice, depression. And I cast that voice out.

I looked around my apartment, and got up from the floor. Take care of yourself, another inner me whispered. And so, I did. I boiled some water for tea, brushed my hair, washed my face and snuggled under my blue blanket with a nice book. My mind would now be occupied with stories about centuries old myths and legends, and not with dark depressing thoughts. That is how I would battle it. Day by day, moment by moment, maybe standing still sometimes, but never moving backwards. Standing tall and proud, like the cherry tree in my garden.

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