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When I am not completely happy, I get anxious. A shadow of darkness and I want to run away. I am so fearful of falling back into a depression. I am petrified. I care so much about staying away because I know that once the darkness envelops me I won’t care at all.

Everyone likes being in a good place. My favourite part of it is getting shit done, realising dreams and goals, and on a base level, showering and getting out of bed. That’s pretty nice. I’m terrified of days that blur into weeks, that blur into a month with nothing to show for it.

It is because of this fear that I push myself s hard to look on the bright side, that I ignore any warning signs by filling them to overflowing happy things. I don’t allow myself to cry longer than a solitary tear at a movie because I don’t want it to turn into one of those cries about nothing.

I do not allow myself the “pleasure” of being sad because I’m too fearful of the aching numbness of depression.

The number one thing that non-depressive people don’t quite get is that depression is not just extreme sadness. I get so mad with people who feel that way. But today I realised that I have become one of those people. In running away and being consumed with this fear, I have forgotten that my depression does not come from this sadness. Allowing myself to feel sadness because of my friend’s sick baby granddaughter will not make me depressed.

And so today I am letting myself know that while it’s certainly better to dance in the light, sometimes it’s okay to feel the sadness.

My husband is in another country and I miss him and I’m sad about that. And that’s okay.

I’m releasing my guilt over feeling sad.

Today I’m not okay.

And that’s okay.