Why I didn’t want to be cured of depression

When I was younger, I thought depression just meant you couldn’t be happy like everyone else. And, of course, I wasn’t happy the way everyone else was (or seemed to be). I think my thought was “I do not feel happy, therefore there is something wrong with me. Therefore, I am supposed to see a doctor and be cured of that so that I can be happy about everything no matter what.”

But why would I want to be cured of everything I feel? I want to be able to feel both the good and the bad, otherwise there seems to be no point to things. What is the point of fine art if you discern all art as good and find happiness in anything no matter how cheap or low quality? What is the point of taking showers if you are perfectly satisfied with filth? What is the point of eating if you’re happy with being hungry? Why try for anything? Why strive for anything? Why not wear ugly clothes, get an ugly haircut, be content with things you normally don’t like…

I don’t like my life.

I don’t like my clothes. I don’t like the people around me. I don’t like the sights I see when I open my eyes first thing in the morning. It’s like I’m living someone else’s life, not my own.

I feel a sense of suffocation, like I just want to be able to go out there into the world, to be free. To go somewhere pleasant, somewhere that makes me happy.

As much as I wish I could find the special pill that would make me tolerate an inescapable life, I still somehow would rather put up with the misery. This is because being “cured” sounds like killing my standards and discernment. It’s like it would change everything I am. If I’m happy no matter what, I would have no reason to seek out better art, entertainment, or music. Unfortunately, that is one of the few things I live for. The ability to make decisions about what I like, dislike, and love is one of the few things I have in life that gives it much meaning. If I took away my discernment and was just happy with this ugly life I have now, then what’s the point of anything? I have nothing else to find meaning in since those meaningful aspects of life are cut off from me (things like raising a family or being part of something, or whatever else it is that gives others meaning in life.)

No, I still want to be able to appreciate the things I appreciate, to still be able to find value in them. I still want to discern good from bad and what’s worse and what’s better, what’s tasteful and tasteless, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to really appreciate much. I would not really value hard work, skill or creativity. I would just be satisfied, rather, happy, with anything cheap, bland, meaningless, or ugly like my current dry, ugly, painful, empty life that I’m supposed to be happy about.

Published by illnessislife

Sick of being so sick I can't live life. But it's been so long like this that I accept it. Illness is life. I have no other life.

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