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Once upon a time…

Once upon a time, there lived a man. There was nothing terribly special about this man but he was a good man. He cared for those around him. He went out of his way for friends. He acted selflessly whenever he could. Unfortunately, things weren’t really as they seem. The man was a mess. He woke up everyday dreading whatever may come. Getting out of bed was a challenge. In his mind, sleeping all day would make his emotions disappear. He’d fight himself every morning but, eventually, he’d get up and paint the facade that was his life. The man was very guarded. He was afraid to let anyone in, to let someone see his insecurities. He would be whoever the world would think he was. But at the end of the day, in the company of only himself, he was forced to be who he was in his mind. He hated to see what was inside. He would remember how he used to be and it would break his heart. Every night he would pray for a change. He’d pray for strength to change himself or to help him develop a different attitude. But every morning he’d wake up and it would all repeat itself. This went on for months and months. One day he finally realized that no one could help him but himself. Praying wasn’t going to change anything unless he was willing to change. He had to count his blessings and really look at his life. He had a great job, great friends and family and he was healthy. What did he have to be so depressed about? Finally, be started to feel better. Mornings were less of a war and he actually welcomed what the day would bring.

I guess the moral of my story is this: life is what you make it. Most of my depression is all in my state of mind. I decided that i was going to be miserable and so I was. I wouldn’t allow myself to heal and to get stronger. One day i realized that I, myself, had to change my behaviors. No one, including God, was responsible for how I was feeling. Who would help someone who wasn’t willing to help himself?


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