I’ve been depressed lately. A lot. In a very real, very scary, very hide-under-the-covers-and-never-come-out way, a very quit-your-job-and-disappear-into-the-woods way. In a way that called up all the memories of past depression. A way that felt like it would totally sink me.
It hasn’t sunk me yet, though. I’m still plugging onward, as much as I wish I could get a doctors’ note to take a three-day break from, well, everything. I’m still going.
And as a gratefulness exercise, here’s a list of the small things that save my life regularly. Well, they’re not all small, not to me. They’re huge to me. To those around me, they might seem miniscule. I guess it’s just a matter of perception…
- The sounds of Brooklyn life amplified by an open window on a warm-ish spring day.
- “No, Karis,” as said to me by all the guys in the kitchen, a thousand times a night. The way they tease me and ask if I’m going to cry again today.
- A silly texting conversation about crushes with a refreshing friend.
- Being told I’m “cute, fun and interesting” by a date who is taking a few moments to recover from finding out he’s the first date (LOL).
- That specific chill that comes in April and May, that sun-filtered kinda-warmth that’s not cloying or thick, not summer yet.
- The messages of love, hope and encouragement sent on Facebook by people who know I’m struggling.
- Being taken seriously when I seriously say I wish I were not alive.
- Sheila taking the time to say hello.
- Selling one Margherita and one coke at 7:45 p.m. every night to the same bright girl.
- Having crushes again.
- Bashful looks and prospects.
- Young adult novels — writing and reading them.
- The resurgence of hope that comes after a deep low.
- Rowan, and Nick, and Chi, and my Connect Girls, and Bethany, and my roommates (all of them), and Becca and too many more to name.
- You guys.
I dunno, I’m sure there’s more. This is just my way of saying: it’s the small things, guys. The smell, the sound, the taste of spring. The silly shenanigans that go on at work. The friends that laugh at my jokes even when I’m so sad. The adrenaline rush that comes from performing, even when you’re not on stage, even when you’re just playing the role “charming pizza-slinger.” The hope of traveling to new places. The knowledge you can’t experience anything new if you’re dead.
These are the things that keep me alive. These are the things that help me go on.
And this — this blog post. Writing. Using words to spread a message. Seeing that message read and understood. Connecting with someone because of how I string together some letters and words and form a sentence and weave an image.
It’s the little things.