I thought I'd figured something out about the depression yesterday, possibly glimpsed some light peeking through, but then the darkness descended again and it was worse than before because I'd had that moment of hope.
I went for a few laps around our campus at work with a colleague yesterday morning and I was sure I'd gotten through the worst of the depression. I'd even made plans (with myself) to go and bicycle in the gym at the end of the day. "This is good," I told myself, "I'm really feeling so much better. Wow, depression is awful and I'm glad it's done." Oh yes, I even picked up my workout bag, told everyone I was going to the gym, and walked down the stairs. What a wonderful, beautiful day!
And then, about two steps outside the building, insidious thoughts of my huge, walrus-like self in the cycling jersey I was carrying working out in front of other people with my enormous stomach on disgusting display popped, unbidden, into my head, and that was that. Instead of turning right to walk to the gym, I kept going straight, up the stairs in the parking structure, threw the gear into Minnie, and off I drove for home.
Every insecurity, every crazy fear I've ever had lives on with glory in the land of depression. And it seems sometimes that it's all just there waiting for me to be happy and confident so that it can brutally destroy all of that and leave me questioning whether happiness can ever be real and lasting for me.