I Don’t Care if I Don’t Wake Up Tomorrow

30 some years ago I was in the dog days of my Engineering degree; February of third year.

February sucks. It’s cold and grey, not close enough to spring, and mid term season is upon you.

Third years sucks. University is no longer new and amazing and you’re slugging through the last of the required garbage (I’m looking at you, required electrical engineering courses).

Plus I was recently out of a long term relationship.

On the phone with a friend, who was concerned about my mental state, I said, “You know, I don’t really care if I wake up tomorrow.”

This is the first clear recollection I have of being in the grey mist of depression.

Sometimes when you’re depressed, it’s a crisis. You’re non-functional and at, or even over, the edge of self harm.

The grey mist is not that. Everything just…sucks.

There’s no joy, no happiness, just an endless grey fog you slowly trudge through.

I can remember times before this, all the way back to my early teens, when I was in crisis. This is my first clear memory of the mist.

I’m sitting here thinking about it, and it’s hard to pin down exactly when and how I got out of it, and what finally pulled me through.

I do remember being happy to have my final design project done and handed in. I remember going out to a  hour Tim Horton’s to celebrate with my classmates. We had to go to an all nighter, we handed our work in at, lik,3am.

And maybe therein lies one of the keys to pushing through. Accomplishments.

Whenever I get something done, the mist lifts a little bit.

And whenever I’m continuously getting stuff done, it stays a little farther back.

And whenever I fall down, it closes in.