Regret is a powerful thing. It’s heavy, and it pulls you down in more ways than you can even comprehend. Think of all the bad decisions you’ve made- from that extravagant, non-refundable purchase, to a bad relationship, to not working out the past week. Life is full of regrets. It has a great influence in your life and life decisions- though minuscule, they add up and often at times, life is out of your control. More often than not, your regrets are much stronger than the the ones of the person next to you; or so you think. Only, some choose to dwell on it and some don’t. The fascinating thing about regret is that it exists in varying measures in everyone’s life, not matter who they are. Regret is omnipresent.
Regret is also a major part of depression. Depression is not cool, it’s not convenient, it’s not romantic, and you can’t fake it. It’s not even visible, but it messes you up. You don’t need to be clinically diagnosed to know that you will be clinically diagnosed soon. The fascinating thing about depression is that you can always know when you’re on the brink of it. There’s a margin, between being down in the dumps and going into clinical depression – an ambiguous area of emotional turbulence, where you know that you can still pick up the pieces but you have to get up out of bed without having to wonder why you have to. This is the phase where you have to “snap out of it”. You have to wake up.
Overcoming emotional trauma is often a lonely and fearsome thing to do. That’s why it’s multiple times easier to overcome pain when there’s someone to share it with – a loving partner, a friend, a sibling, or a parent. But you’re on the far end of the middle zone when you have all the people you want, and still feel that invisible mountain sitting on your head. You’re not lazy – you don’t get up and go drink some water because you can’t. You have stepped out of the house barely ten times in the last six months because you are so imprisoned in your own mind, it makes no matter where you go. You don’t talk to people because you can’t, not because you don’t want to. You can see the shambles all around you, and you care, but you can’t do anything because your brain refuses to listen to itself and your limbs don’t cooperate. The fascinating thing about emotional drain is how often people confuse your inability to act with not caring. And how often you actually stop caring.
Then in a sudden moment of vivacious clarity, you see yourself. You have always looked at your life, but you never saw. People have told you things and you always knew they were true, but you never saw. It’s a big jolt, it takes the breath out of you. The iron mountain on your head is still there, but it can rust and crumble. And you have to make it. Your life has always had a plan, and now it’s all but gone. You can’t comprehend reality. But when you see, you accept. You accept that there were rose-tinted glasses somewhere, and that it’s time to throw your unrequited dreams out of the window. Life’s unfair only as long as you don’t accept it. The fascinating thing about acceptance is that you realize you can’t have dreams anymore – only ambitions. Acceptance is the first step to recovery.
To recover, there has to be change. Not a slow change, as is often advocated, but an overnight one. Change has to be drastic. It at least must have a drastic attempt made it before it can even be noticeable. There’s nothing fascinating about change.
Life throws a variety of citrus fruits at you, and the increasingly massive mountains only make it that much harder for you to see that they can be crushed with your feet and stopped with your hands. You are left dehydrated and drained without realizing that lemonade can offer all the energy you need. You just have to pick up some of the lemons and make it.
Today I saw, and today I accept.
Tomorrow, I’m hopeful I’ll wake up.