I went for a walk

Depression has as many faces as the people it wears.  For me, it most frequently manifests as a denial of self.  For me, depression is refusing to thrive, for reasons I can rarely articulate.

Depression is denying myself the pleasure of _______.

So, generally, for reasons I cannot even now explain, I deny myself the pleasure of hiking (and the greater outdoors), the stars, sex (even masturbation to a degree that seems to surprise my male friends), of exercising and getting fit, of becoming good at something like piano or Japanese or drawing, maintaining a social network, going out, going to bed on time, waking up at an hour that leaves me room to breathe, of getting my work done on time, of finding a career that matches me better, of not feeling anxious, and, in general, of feeling good about myself.

Sunday, I allowed myself the pleasure of a long (6ish mile) hike in Forest Park.  I don't know what it is about silence right now but goddamn I need it.  The birds and the wind in the trees were acceptable noises.  Soothing even.  There were some children accompanied by a bored parent who were shrieking in delight at streams and mud, but the trees politely muffled the sound for me.  Children can be loud, but I can't hold it against them.  I'm secretly just jealous that I'm not that uninhibited anymore.

But there was a decidedly pleasurable relaxation of tension deep in my chest as a result of the exercise and the luxurious quiet of the great outdoors and I am glad I decided not to deny myself the pleasure, at least for a day.