Depression that has been my true friend for over two years, never deserting me, always by my side, has shown signs of fading away. That feels strange. It feels good.
I haven’t felt pleasure for ages. I’ve done things, but that doing hasn’t made happy, there’s been no joy in completing a short story, finishing a painiting.
Yesterday I felt joy. I was happy. No anxiety, no panic. No wanting to escape away from the crowd that surrounded me. No hyperventilation behind the corner.
I had a sales table in a bazar where I sold my handicraft and paintings. Did I sell much? It’s not the point, the main thing is that I survived the fours hours I sat and stood behind my table. I smiled to the customers, I talked with them. And all the time I felt happiness for my ability to be among so many people.
Pride. That’s what I felt.
What happens tomorrow? Shall I turn again into a hermit? Will my heart pound in anxiety, is it hard to breathe? I don’t care. I won’t think about it. There’s no sense in worrying, which is what I’ve leraned during these two and some years. What comes, it comes.
I’m happy now.