Midnight hours

Depression feels like a curse. Or, to be more exact, PTSD. The bad thing about being a therapist is that I know how arbitrary these labels are and how uesless they are to describe the agony one goes through when facing this unknown beast.

How many years ago was it that I wrote such sentences? "To befriend the beasts, and to return to man." Right, that was only three years ago.

The feeling of exhaustion has not decreased; the only difference is that now I do recognize how lucky I am, yet the beasts remain; that much is true as well.

I was sitting outside smoking a cig, and I heard that our neigbhor had soft music playing in the background in her apartment and I heard a man's voice. Apparently it's parhaps a night to remember for someone that I don't know very well.

Yet that tugged at something inside of me.

I am thinking back to the happiest moments of my life. That one night with D at the beach, holding the flowers from Rob, being with my grandma in the bathroom, getting ready in the bathroom in and morning and my two brothers burst in and we started playing around, hiding in the park or riding the bike in the early morning with Monica, oh those days.

I remember watching The Hours, and in that film Meryl Streep said, "That morning just felt like such possibilities. I stepped outside and took a breath. I thought; this is the beginning of happiness, and of course there is more of it."

"Years later I realized. That was happiness. That moment."

Why is it I am so acutely aware of what I think I lack and not what I do have? Is this in the way I was built?

Watching Rob sleep. He sleeps like a baby, with the most innocent look on his face.

That is the moment.