This last few months have been nothing short of amazing.
Nothing particularly spectacular has happened really, not in comparison to other people’s lives. There’s been no big announcements, no exciting adventures, no dramatic occurrences. All that’s happened is I’ve become me again and I cannot tell you how good it feels.
I’ve always been the sort of person who thinks no dream is too big. I’ve always been encouraging of people with talent, open to new friends and connections in the world but also enjoying and coveting my private space. I’ve always been positive, even in anger I still found a way to remain positive. I used to chase creative highs so hard I would be out of breath. Because there is nothing like that feeling. Nothing.
I used to dress for myself, not for other people.
I’ve always been a dreamer, looking to the stars and wondering just what else is out there, where the dragons hide in the woods and thinking about the fact that the ocean is so vast anything could be down there.
Somewhere along the way I stopped.
Somewhere along the way I became cynical and bitter and mistrusting.
I’ve always known the world is a place full of as much tradegy as it is laughter. I’ve always known that the more cynical of people often have truth in what they say; we are born alone. We do spend most of our time alone, in our own heads, most of the conversations we have are with ourselves and eventually we die alone.
I’d always looked on the brighter side of things.
Then I stopped.
It was a slow process, even whilst I was in it’s grips I didn’t truly recognise it.
I started to think the worst in every situation, I started to constantly question what the point in doing things was, nothing changed. I became mistrusting, paranoid, a control freak. I isolated myself in so many ways because I didn’t have the energy to fight all those demons in my head. All those voices questioning motives, all those voices assuming the worst, all those voices telling me how terrible I was and indeed how terrible the world was.
People still tend to believe that when you’re in the grips of depression you can just ‘pull yourself out of it.’ The amount of times people suggested to me I just do something to cheer up or calm down was huge. I’m not going to lie, I thought that way about other people too. I was still existing and functioning even with the horrible weight on me. Those people needed to do the same.
It’s only now I’m out the other side that I realise how hard it actually is.
A lot of people compare depression to a rain cloud but it’s so much worse than that. It’s like a monster that’s taken you prisoner. Like a dementor is constantly at your side. So much so that, slowly, this horrible numb feeling starts to become normal. Happiness becomes alien. Positive thoughts become so alien that you chase them away and no matter how hard you try a patronus just isn’t coming to help. Throw anxiety and OCD into that mix and life inside your own head becomes a spell in Askaban.
And then, slowly, with help the fog begins to clear and life starts to get brighter.
That’s what happened to me anyway.
One day I suddenly realised that I was the old me again. I’m laughing and joking and enjoying life. I go out, I talk to people without starting to get stressed about how many conversations I’m having. I rejoice in music, read book after book and allow films to fill me with the same sense of wonderment they always have. I allow fiction to shift my view points and take me on dizzying highs without worrying too much about crashing back down.
More importantly I reconnected with the magic and beauty of the little things around me. Saving a Bumblebee from being trodden on, the feel of the sun on my back, the rain on my skin. The smell of rain on a hot pavement, freshly mown grass. Hugging someone and really feeling it. Making friends. Allowing myself to really taste things, hearing music, blasting it into my ears and feeling it in my soul. Allowing it to fill me up to the point I feel invincible, inspired, amazing.
I started being able to look in the mirror again and say to myself ‘Damn girl! You came to slay.’
I found my confidence, my voice.
I found myself.
Most importantly, for me, I found magic again. For an author it’s very important to have that magic I think. The ability to look into the woods and see something more than trees and mud. The ability to close your eyes and feel the world shift around you. Having joy in believing there might just be something more out there.
It’s a corner stone of who I am and losing it was hard for me. Finding it again has been a joy.
I’ve gotten into what some might call a cycle of happiness and it’s amazing. You give a smile, you get a smile back. You open yourself up and suddenly there are people you meet who just amaze you. Who you want to talk to and find out all about their lives, their passions, their stories.
I’ve never lost my, I am me, attitude. I did lose the confidence to carry it, the way I once did though. That too has come back in full force.
I am me.
I am Laura and I love me.
I am happy and comfortable and full of life and if you don’t like it, if you think it’s too weird, too loud, too colourful well that’s your problem not mine.