Remembering while you’re in the pit.

Sometimes we forget when we are down that there have been good times too. As you’ve maybe noticed, I haven’t been myself lately. Not to say that I am always a bouncy, bubbly, happy person, but I am more than I currently have allowed myself to be. Or I should say that I am more than my mental illness has allowed me to be.

In an effort to cheer me up (because she is the best), my friend asked me to draw my most loved/happiest memory of a time we spent together this year. This put me in a pickle. I had the same pickle when I was trying to do my Patronus test on Pottermore this year. Name a happy memory? Uhh… I will get to that… immediately. Fun times are totally right in the forefront of my mind.

I actually had to reach back and it made me feel horrible. I love my support circle so much. I get so much personal time with my mom and my brother, my best friends and my cousins. I hated that I couldn’t think of my happiest memory ever. Depression and anxiety rob you of that in such a strange way. It’s like all your happy times are muted a little bit. I KNOW that I have laugh-cried several times this year, both in person and on the phone with my best friend. We have had slumber parties, movie nights and museum trips. My mom and I have gone hiking practically every week since the spring, and it has given me great joy to share the forest with her. My dog is at the dog park several times a week, acting like a derp and running full tilt until I am in fits. I have been happy. I know I have. Why is it so hard to remember?

I know the Patronus test is like a kiddy thing to do. The computer code doesn’t care that you’re not remembering your best memory; it literally tells you that the speed with which you answer helps to determine the direction your results take. That being said, I was embarrassed. I reached back and remembered my own vacation to Hogwarts a couple of summers ago. It was literally perfect. My memories shine bright because I was in a pit then too, and it felt like a new beginning to me in some way. That’s when I started questioning if I was really happy then, too. Or my mental illness did. Wasn’t it too hot? Did you and Tanya fight at all, I can’t remember, Crystal. You ran out of money and couldn’t get all the fun stuff you wanted. Don’t forget coming back to credit card debt! It was awful. Remembering one of the best weeks of my life turned into me ruining it.

I didn’t want to do that this afternoon. I’m afraid of remembering happy times, because I don’t want to question them too. Of course I was happy this year. I know I was. It’s hard to remember when your brain is fuzzy and your mind is telling you that you are a piece of shit. I don’t know if any of this makes a ton of sense, or if people who suffer with mental illness just kind of get it, but it makes me feel like the worst friend. I didn’t want to draw a picture for my friend who was trying to make me feel better. Potentially tarnishing something that I have to already reach back in my memories for feels like something beyond that which I can handle at the moment. So I apologized and told her it was hard.

And I continue to feel guilty.