As the title says, this is a post within a post. A few days
ago, I was so depressed that though I was holding out for a better blog topic I
felt a sudden need to document my depression with a blog post. I did promise
whoever was reading (or even just me) that I would be brutally honest about how
I went about my life, and unfortunately, depression is a big part of it. I
never got around to finishing or publishing the post -- but I am posting the
body of it today. I wanted to post it in this context and not as a separate
post because I do not want my depression to define me. But I am posting it
because if there are other people out there who get depressed as I do -- I want
them to know that they are not alone. I don't really have any answers; all I
have to offer is the somewhat comforting thought that someone out there is
feeling as you are.
I was supposed to have a happy
Christmas-type post, but alas, it is now that I am depressed that I find myself
with lots of time to write. Or maybe, it is this feeling of being depressed
that I need to make sense of. I think in my later life, there are more times
when I am depressed than when I am not. I suppose it all boils down to liking
the person I am becoming. I can't seem to.
I didn't get a lot of sleep last night. I was kept up (in a
nightmarish way) by thoughts about the future. I guess when you reach a certain
age, the future becomes so close to possible that you feel pressured to measure
up to the vision you have of it in your head.
For instance, it was so much easier to imagine a bright
future for yourself when you were fifteen, and there weren't a lot of
self-limiting thoughts and hurtful experiences to contend with. Then, when
thoughts of the future danced in your head it was all brightness and laughter
and fulfillment at living up to your perceived true potential.
Now, thoughts about the future are more likely to send you
running in the opposite direction. Now, when your future is practically in the
same breathing room as your present, you are made to understand how your
millions of tiny decisions have amalgamated into the drama (or non-drama) that
is your life. You are made to face the possibility of mediocrity, and if not
that, of failure. You are made to assess the probability that you have
turned into the very thing you have been working against.
I was out of the house on the day that I found out that I had failed the bar exams. I'm not sure why exactly, but I had a hunch that my name would not be on the list of successful takers when it came out. I had deliberately chosen to attend a seminar about graphic design rather than staying home and waiting for the results there because I wanted to reassure myself of 2 things:
1) That there was a world bigger and more vibrant than the legal bubble that I had been in for the past six years.
2) That I had it in me to take bad news alone and not fall apart (at least not in public).
As two very fabulous graphic artists from Spain spoke about the bright futures one could have in advertising and magazine publishing, I sat alone in the back end of the Ayala Museum, refreshing the Supreme Court website on my phone to find out if the list had been released yet. I did not expect any congratulatory texts from anyone; and though I was incredibly disappointed when my worst fears were confirmed, I held my composure and finished the event without tearing up or breaking down. (I cried finally in a secluded corner of Sala Bistro when my mom called to ask where we were having dinner. My parents had never thought it possible that I would fail and so they had called to congratulate me without actually checking the results. It was only after I had to vocalize it that I broke down. Having to say "I failed" to two people who had never comprehended failure for themselves was one of the hardest things I have ever done. That time was also the first and last time that I let myself cry over failing the bar.)
I was very lucky to have a friend who promised to be with me after the results came out, regardless of whether they were good or bad. Because we both knew that there were no words that could make me feel any better, we (she) decided that we would watch a DVD at her house instead. All I knew at that time was that I did not want to go home and face my parents; at least, not yet.
In some sort of happy (not at the time, but now that I think about it) accident, Z chose the movie Morning Glory, a movie about a girl who dreamt of working for The Today Show since she was a child. After being laid off from her local cable news job, her mother tells her to give up her dream before it becomes an embarrassment (after which scene my friend paused the movie and asked if I wanted to continue watching). The story is about how she recovers from her lay-off and how she manages to turn a failing morning news show into one of the highest rating national morning shows.
It didn't magically make me feel ready to take on the world, but it was comforting to watch other people giving life another try. After I saw it, I felt I had enough courage to go home, face my parents, go to sleep, and get out of bed the next day.
----The next films are ones I've seen in the past. They're not all box-office greats or even Oscar-buzz worthy, but I find that they hit the spot for when you feel like you lack the will to try again.
Best I-Will-Get-Through-This Quote:
Jerry
Barnes: Day break is under staffed, under funded and whoever works
there will be publicly ridiculed, under paid, overworked. Awful.
Firsts are often exhilarating, but as with everything that we try for the first time, they open us up to uncertainty, vulnerability, and the very real possibility of failure.
I myself am trying to recover from a very big failure: my biggest one yet, if I'm being honest. I wish I could say that I just brushed myself off and started again, like so many inspirational people often do; but I have reacted in exactly the opposite way. Because it was such a colossal failure, it affected me in a completely negative way. It sucked out my will to live. I no longer saw myself as an able and capable person. I no longer saw myself as someone who could make things happen. I found myself wanting for reasons to get up in the morning (some days I literally didn't). I found it hard to look at myself in the mirror. I cut off contact with all friends who knew about my failure, convincing myself that I wouldn't be able to take their pity. I stopped living, literally. Even up to now, as I am typing this, I still feel as though I am existing on auto-pilot. It has been so long since I last felt really, really alive.
