Melancholic Sunbathing

During what seems like it should be one of the greatest times of my life so far, I was actually in one of my darkest times yet. Yes, there may be times similar in the future, but in my mind, I was in the worst of the worst.

I realized it was bad as I sat in a wonderful cafe at the end of a beautiful day in Monterey, California, a few hours from Yosemite National Park where I now called “home”. I was having coffee and beginning to write a book (something I had only ever dreamed of) due to a (probably) unrealistic dream during what I think was a manic episode, and before I knew it I was listening to a jazz band consisting of four older gentlemen playing saxophones. An even older man sat next to me and we smiled and talked and clapped. Assuming I was excited to be there, (how could he have known I was not intentionally at a jazz show?) he shared jazz facts with me and informed me of another live music venue down the road. Knowing I would likely not attend, I still pretended to share the same excitement. It was a lovely time, or it should have been, but my mind was elsewhere, like it usually is.

While the men played their saxophones, the room continued to fill with their friends, family, peers, and even old band-mates, and they all listened intently and cheerfully. They seemed happy. Meanwhile, my eyes had been glued to the wall behind them. Painted jellyfish and sea creatures swam along the vast ocean, disguised as a mural in this coffee shop, and they taunted me. Swimming freely, showing me that I was stuck, and they were not. They reminded me of something terrifying- I was lost, and trying to find myself in all the wrong places. I sat in the room for hours, trying not to cry. I wasn’t even quite sure why I wanted to cry. I planned my escape every 10 minutes or so, but the timing was never right so I sat there with glossy eyes, holding back tears that desperately wanted to escape as well.

For two days before that, I had spent the majority of my time at beaches and coffee shops and restaurants far too expensive for me. The days that would follow would be similar. Elephant seal escapades past Big Sur, small coastal towns along the famous Highway One, and more sunlight than I had seen since September. Despite all of these glorious adventures, I was not happy. This led to a heartbreaking realization, a saying much older than I was, and a thought that I always believed I could combat or disprove, “money can’t buy happiness”.

Not that I had much money anyway, but the idea that one day I would get rich and that would fix all my problems was an idea that kept me a little bit sane. During my recent bout of depression, and like many episodes before, I had spent much of my savings and dug myself deeper into debt as a failed attempt at trying to “feel something”. All the money in the world probably couldn’t have saved me.

I did experience a moment of hope during these few weeks. Before my jazz moment in Monterey, and even before I returned to California from Colorado, I had not felt well. I went home for the seasonal closure of the resort I worked at. My seasonal depression came annually, and had began before I left, but something felt different this time. I often said that during these depressive episodes, but this one was truly different. It was stronger and rooted in something much larger than winter. Being home didn’t help much at all. I spent as much time as I could with family and friends, but I was putting on a happy act in a town that I no longer belonged in. I attempted to visit as few people as possible. I mostly stuck with immediate family. I became sick during the second week, and this lasted until I left. Being sick always makes my sadness worse, and this time would be no exception. I spent my last week home sick, frustrated, and at times, erratic. I didn’t much care to see anyone, and when I did I was incredibly awkward, which was unusual for me as I was typically very social and chatty. I could barely hold conversations or maintain eye contact while attempting to listen to conversations that I really didn’t care for. I finally made my escape with an excuse of having to return to work for a housing situation. It wasn’t entirely an excuse, and I was sad to leave my family, but it was time. I slept for most of the train ride back to California as I had been awake for several days before. As soon as I arrived “home”, I quickly left again. If it weren’t for the sudden change of now having a roomate, I probably would have stayed in that cramped room for weeks until I was forced to return to work. Instead, this would be the beginning of what I called “my last coast trip before returning to work for the spring and summer”, but it was actually an attempt at sanity, or maybe a reminder that I was okay. It failed. Every new day came and even though I was in a different place, drowning myself in seawater and sunlight, it was still there. The dread. The fear.

The small glimmer of hope came the day in Monterey. The jazz show day. During said jazz show, I received a message from a coworker. We had discussed meeting in Monterey if we were both there, but it wasn’t much of a plan and more of a maybe. I felt that if we didn’t see each other, it would not change anything and I would carry on with my trip and see him when we returned to work. However, this would be incorrect. If I had not seen him, I probably would not have found this “glimmer of hope”. We met in downtown Monterey. He didn’t need to know that I had been sleeping in my car and crying constantly. He only needed to know that I was happy to see him. We went to a bar where he would have a beer and I would have a mocktail, as I had been for months. It began with small talk (which I hate), but it turned into a great time. We showed each other our favorite places, and he was from there, so he had more to share than I did. We talked for hours, walked for miles, laughing and listening to sea lions bark. We sat on the beach by the water where I had sat for three hours earlier that day. Almost everything we did that night, I had done before, except this time I was not alone. I have many memories and experiences with other people, but I love being alone. Recently, however, my aloneness morphed into loneliness.

I am often surrounded by people who take advantage of my inability to say “no”. Because of this, I often choose to either be with a select few people, or alone. This night was different though. This was a real friend. He chose to spend his time with me, which was not entirely an unusual choice, but this time we were not at work. We were away from the place where we spent almost every day as we lived steps away from our jobs. We actually got to be people. Spending my time with him this night was a reminder that I am not alone, and many of the self-deprecating thoughts I had of myself, or that I assumed others had about me, are not true, meaning other thoughts might also be false, like “my world is ending” and “every bad thing that can happen to me will happen”. It was a reminder that I DO have times where I am genuinely happy. This friend also saved me from a relapse. I do not expect anybody to ever play an active role in my sobriety, as it is a journey solely up to my own decisions, but I will admit, it is nice when someone cares. I had been making my, often failed, attempt at sobriety for a long while. This current attempt began four months before after a reckless night out that cost me a friendship. While in Monterey with my friend, I tried to order a shot at a bar, and he simply told me “no”. He did not ask questions or try to make me feel bad, and even when I tried to convince him that it was fine and I could simply have one, he was firm on his “no”. I can’t really think of many others who would have done this for me, and practically none from my hometown. Many people I knew weren’t very supportive of my sobriety, which has an entirely different story to tell. I carried on as if I hadn’t suggested the drink in the first place, as did he. Eventually, after many hours of genuine joy and laughter, we parted ways. For the first time in a long time, I did not feel empty.

My coast trip may not have been the cure all, but it sure did give me a reminder that I have been depressed before, and it got better, therefore I can get better again. My unexpected meeting with my unassuming friend was a glimpse into my future where things are genuinely good. I do not know what exactly that future looks like, but if I lose my hope and lose sight of a better life, that life will likely not come.

As proved correct by this coast trip, I am no stranger to running from my problems. I tried to escape my depression by running away. At the end of the trip, I would return to work and continue to be depressed. Mental illness comes in so many forms and fashions, and lays its attack on anyone it can. The most vulnerable people, and also the strongest. Kindness has always been depressions biggest enemy, for me atleast. This world is filled with enough hatred and fear right now, but being kind and receiving kindness prove to me that love exists and it is everywhere. I continue to fight against the sadness and give myself gentle reminders that I am full of life and love, and I am loved. I try to show others this as well, for I never know what battle someone else is fighting. Even on my most exciting days filled with adventure and experiences, I am struggling. My “less exciting” days are still more favorable than “normal” days to others, and for that I am grateful, but they are still difficult for me.

I have hope that if we continue to be kind to each other and spread love, then we really can make the world an easier place to exist. Depression is hard, and life is harder. Being there for one another is something that, in my opinion, can save us all, but at the end of the day, you can only save yourself. I probably sound like a tree-hugging hippie to many, and if that means I am in the slightest bit, trying to be a better person, then so be it. This is one of my beliefs that keeps me going, so I hold onto it like my life depends on it (it kind of does).

I will not go into detail about my depression or my mental illness because that is not the point of this. The point is that it hits when I least expect it and when I most expect it. It sometimes stays just for a vacation, and other times it makes its home in my head and sticks around for way too long, (It could atleast pay rent. Times are hard), but I don’t give up.

Even though I am not always content with my emotions or the inner workings of my brain, even on my “greatest days”, I am still living my life. I am experiencing grand things, even on my “average” days. And on those average days, I am still grateful for the small moments that bring quiet reminders that I am okay. I feel the bad days and yes, they hurt, but it shows me that I will have good days again. You cannot know the bad without also having, at one time or another, known the good.

In my return to my “normal life” or my reality, I will try to treat every day as an exceptionable day filled with beauty and love, and as a trubute to the fact that I am alive. Each day will be treated as though it will be the best day I have ever had, and that it could be my last. I’m sure that some days I will briefly lose sight of this and some days will still be more difficult than others, but I will keep trying.

Try to find joy in the simple things, as they are far more reliable and consistent than the “grand” things like vacations or materialistic items or short lived love affairs. I do this by reading good books and bad ones too, writing, painting, sitting outside, talking to people I care about, walking, watching movies, having lunch with good friends (good is a key word here) , and even just sitting in a quiet room. I love the quiet. Finding joy in my normal, everyday activities is often the best way to return joy into my life. Desperately running away and spending my money and time trying to “save myself” usually only ends in a tragic reminder that I am still depressed, only now with less money, and yes, with more memories, but still with the looming darkness that returned, and will likely stay awhile.

I despise when authors (like Matt Haig in “Reasons to Stay Alive”) say that love saved them, but they are right. It is not always finding the “love of your life”. It is in our love for our family and friends, our pets, our hobbies, and love in every other thing that we enjoy, that we find what we need to save ourselves. Find love. Hold onto it tight. And when the darkness leaves, don’t forget about it. You likely will need it again. Share that love with others, for maybe that will be what saves them too.