Willing
When I’m depressed, nothing can help me if I’m not willing to be helped — not drugs, not people, not time — nothing. Depression can create or consume; it can ignite or extinguish. The only way to overcome is to choose to do so. Only one person can fight depression: the person suffering from it.
Others can help, but only if I’m willing to let them; words can help, but only if I’m willing to listen; drugs can help, but only if I’m willing to take them; time can help, but only if I’m willing to let it pass, not just pass me by.
It’s a strange thing to have such a keen awareness about something, especially concerning myself, yet be so baffled by it. It’s almost beyond comprehension. It’s beyond my control, but it’s not beyond my grasp.
I’ve reengaged so many times that it’s hard to have anything but doubt regarding this time; however, I’m choosing to view my efforts with hope. There is no reason why it might not work this time and there is a damned good reason why it might:
I’m willing.
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