For many people, it seems life as a human is a positive ride full of adventure and spirit. I’m not naive enough (or perhaps not brave enough) to think that any life is all good and pure. But for me? Since I can remember, this human life has been a struggle.
Not in any outward way. I have lived a privileged life in a beautiful country. I was raised in a nice suburban Vancouver neighbourhood. I went to school. I went to university. I traveled. I met amazing people along the way.
Those facts alone make me wonder why I have not lived a great life. Instead, since the day I first realized that I saw the world through a different lens, I have struggled to find any joy. To hush the thoughts in my “unquiet” mind. It wasn’t until I was in my 20s that I even realized other people didn’t walk through their days with idle thoughts of darkness and depression, that thoughts of suicide were not part of their mental synopsis.
That realization was a harsh one for me. I looked back over my childhood and teen years and saw how darkness clouded so many of my memories. That I had never really felt loved or love. That I didn’t even know what it felt like to be happy. But, it made me pause. I put my life on pause for a few fleeting moments, saw the long road ahead of me and acknowledged that I needed to try and change. I needed to accept that my mind was not a normal one and I needed to do something differently or it was going to be a long dark road or — worse — a very short one.
I didn’t find any magical cure for depression. Instead, I found the blessings in the tiny moments. I learned to narrow my lens. To see life in the present, instead of seeing hurt from the past or worry for the future. I picked up my camera and started to take pictures of objects I would have otherwise overlooked, finding bliss in the smallest treasures and later the largest ones — my children.
Eventually, I learned to see those moments more often.
Even in my darkest days and hours. Even from a hospital bed, I was able to see something somewhere. Sitting alone in the morning, sad and lonely — looking up and seeing a single feather floating on an invisible breeze is enough to make me open the blinds and trudge through another day.
Photo Credit
“Heart Clover foxrosser @ flickr.com. Creative Commons. Some rights reserved.
Thank you…there is still hope.
I agree with Susan that it really is important that we can start talking openly about mental health (as well as illness). Your writing will help to keep breaking down the stigma that still clings to those of us who have fought or continue to fight “the black dog.”
This is a lovely piece. Some days are all about finding those moments….Thank you.
Thanks for sharing this. It’s amazing how much difference the little things make isn’t it? It’s so important people are talking publicly about mental health. Closet doors will soon be flying open all over the place!