This is what I affectionately call my Happy Box. For the
last three years, it’s sat by my bedside, storing my supply of antidepressants.
Currently, it holds some copper coins, two Panadol Extra Strength tablets, a contact lens with an outdated prescription
(left eye, I reckon) and a plastic Green Lantern ring; hardly life’s essential
items. I’m not generally an overly sentimental person, and I know I should
probably just throw it out, but for some reason, I don’t feel quite ready for
that just yet.
It’s a weird and rather unsettling feeling, being nostalgic
about psychoactive prescription medications, and yet that’s what I am. I’ve
been off antidepressants for three weeks or so now, and every lunch time I
catch myself panicking over whether I took my pill or not that morning. Then I
chuckle wryly to myself, and remind myself that I no longer take those pills,
because I’m not depressed! And surely, the proof is right there, in my wry
chuckle! Depressed people, as we all know, don’t chuckle, and certainly not
wryly. You might get the odd bitter, sarcastic ‘ha’ out of them, but its
disingeuousness is easily recognised. It is in fact one of the ways to spot the
depressives when out and about. Look for the ones who don’t chuckle, even at
chuckle-worthy happenings. Watch those ones.
It’s a weird business, recovering from depression. Sometimes
I realise I’m genuinely happy about something, and the fact that I’m able to
feel happy about things makes me even happier, and I go into a weird sort of
happiness feedback, and before you know it, I’m smiling at pretty girls as they
pass on the street, and whistling show tunes. I imagine it’s like a mild
version of how manic depressives feel, on a manic swing. It’s fantastic,
although I’d probably not think so if I went from whistling show tunes to
stealing cars and driving across the country to buy crumpets. I’ll stick with
regular brand happy, thank you very much. Happiness is weird when you’re
depressed; you know you should be feeling happy about something, that you
usually would feel happy about it, but the feeling just isn’t there. Or rather,
it’s like all the happiness is there, sloshing around in your brain, but
between it, and you and the feelings jar you need to pour it into, there’s a Perspex
wall, and you can see all that lovely happiness out there, but you can’t get it
where it needs to go, so it’s useless. And not being able to feel happy makes
you feel sad, and if there’s one thing a depressed brain can do extremely well,
it’s feel sad. In fact, sometimes it’s so good at feeling sad, that when
something sad happens, you can’t tell if you’re sad because of it, or because
of your broken brain, and your sadness for genuinely sad things becomes
tainted, and that just makes you sadder, and suddenly you’re into the opposite
of the whistling show tunes bit. So,
when you’re recovering from depression, and coming off the medication, or
ending whatever treatment you’ve been having, it’s not about never feeling sad;
because now, even when you feel sad, you know that you’re genuinely feeling it
for a reason. And in a weird way, that can make you happy. And happiness is
awesome.
