A wet blanket puts out a fire. It's stops the burn in its tracks. All that's left is an ugly, charred, gnarled piece of wood. That's depression.
I have depression and anxiety with my PTSD. The trigger for the wet blanket is usually when I feel I'm not good enough. If I have to prove I'm moral, ethical, honest or good I usually get triggered. Boom wet blanket.
It's uncomfortable, I don't like it and yet I allow it to put out my fire. I wrap myself up in it and become the charred remains of my I've flaming passion for life. I let the cold, dampness seep through me and permeate my heart. Before i even know whats hit me, Just like that stopped dead in my tracks.
The other side of this is, hopelessness doesn't last forever. I find beauty in life. I laugh when I just want to be angry and sulk. I get distracted by my Pollyana attitude (I know it makes me sick too) and I can re-ignite the flame.
I don't like depression. It sneaks up on you and steals your moments. I want to feel, to love, to angry, to be happy, to be sad, to share and to cry. I want all of it because that's living. So I respect the power of the depression, but look forward to when the tears stop.
Those moments when I'm alone and I think too much, it will creep back in. I overthink everything. I analyze, dissect, insert meaning and diagram every situation. Did I say the wrong thing, well of course I Did! I am not capable of communicating effectively. Did I have a bad time, what did they mean by that, that doesn't seem innocent to me. Everything is suspect.
Tonight I'm throwing lighter fluid on the wet blanket and burning it to ashes. I am enough, I am honest, I am ethical, I am moral, I am good. Not tonight depression, not tonight.
