If there’s anything that this pandemic will be remembered for, it’s the universal feeling of depression. On top of every socioecological event that has happened, it has been difficult to escape without some sense of hopelessness. For those more prone to stress and anxiety, they’ll probably relate to the revelation that I suffered a five month depression. Everyone is different and the side effects play out in their own ways. I was able to function in spite of myself, completing a full semester of college while struggling to get out of bed and be productive. The holidays, while surrounded (safely) by family, was a period where I felt alone. Even the comfort that TikTok came to have was often muddled by growing concern around strangers being candid about their own sadness.
This isn’t a post meant to relive every one of those memories. As little as I write on here, I have put in a lot of effort to be more open about my feelings. Depression has been awful and the way it feels like once it starts is that it will never end, like it’s always been there (has it and I just never noticed?). It is taxing. The way it puts you on edge in the small ways, like feeling you’re not worthy of a friend group, that every criticism somehow is meant to be hurtful, that sometimes you haven’t earned food. These small things weaken you, and no amount of me researching psychological disorders could break me free. All it did was create a deeper well of loneliness, a place for me to assess myself and try to build back up.
I suppose that I’m writing this now because I haven’t been miserable in two weeks. Is there the chance that I can fall back into the imprisonment of my brain? Sure. I’m beginning to question if I exist in a constant lull of depression, even if it’s been mostly a light melancholy. States like the past five months are rare, and I have been thankful every day that I have some need to laugh and feel like I have something to offer the world. I am working out ideas for upcoming stories, eagerly jotting notes and thinking up ideas for new columns. Will I be doing a series dedicated to New Wave music, including its many quizzical one hit wonders? I want to. I want to do so much and I love how my brain is back on its aspirational side, if just because the alternative is barely functioning well enough to do the dishes thoroughly on a daily basis, putting food out for the cats, or even having thoughts that aren’t distractingly morbid.
I write this not as a declaration that The Memory Tourist is returning, but as a small update on where I stand. For the first time since October, I have woken most days with an optimism that gives me hope. Part of it is definitely the underlying sense that the world is healing. After a year of nonstop record deaths and youth suicides, it feels like there’s some hope returning into the world. The despair is still present, especially in India where 400,000+ have been diagnosed daily with Coronavirus or with the rise in Asian American hate crimes. There is reason to remain concerned, but suddenly you remember that humanity has some good in it.
Over half of The United States (myself included) population have been fully or partially vaccinated. I’m seeing a rise in plans for the summer and fall months with a return to normalcy. For the first time, I don’t see that as some naïve proposition. Sure, I do believe that there’s still a contingent of the population who seeks to challenge making this a complete success, but there’s enough who recognize the benefits. It has been an imperfect journey in just five months, but I think back on previous challenges. I think of The AIDS Epidemic and how that took years to reach any satisfying certainty. I expected this vaccination process to be years of toil and labor, instead it’s become miraculous (at least in the short run) in a matter of months. Don’t get me wrong… for as much as 2020 felt like a bungled mess, “the cure” will always be a miracle in my eyes; a real triumph of scientific ingenuity.
Why do I bring this up? I suppose to fully understand where my depression was stemming from, you would have to know that uncertainty plays a major role. Sure, I didn’t lose all that much compared to those who lost parents or children, jobs or homes. I’ve been fairly fine only ever needing to be concerned when I discovered that certain places were considering passing laws stating “Do not resuscitate” for mentally disabled people like autistics in the case of Coronavirus. I have been lucky, even if I’ve been terrified about the world around me some days, a fear that to walk into the wrong place even with full security could end poorly. Even with ideations of harm, I don’t want to die. I recognize the value I have to others in my life. The challenge is convincing myself in a way that sticks.
So the question ultimately is: what changed? How did I begin to change my view? For one, all of the pressure that I have been writing about has in some small way been cathartic. Excessively researching psychological theory and various phenomena has given me a fascinating, if laymen’s, vision of how we all deal with depression and trauma. I’ve read essays, looked at message boards, eager to find clues on how people have coped. As painful as it was to uncover decades old memories and put them into better contexts, I felt the end goal was helpful. The revelations there were triggering, sometimes even hurtful, but something interesting happened.
It’s bizarre to say, but repressing memories due to incidents often makes them seem worse. Having chronicled my life thoroughly since my teens, I was able to place a lot of patterns into context, making a vision of myself that was underwhelming. More than that, it allowed me to rediscover the good times, when I was laughing and felt included. I can’t say that my memory is flawless, especially for events over 20 years old, but the fact that I’m thinking about them again and finding joy in some of them is surreal. Part of it hurts and has regret, but I defy anyone to prove they lived a life perfectly.
This was February and March, where I spent time going deep inside my head. Sometimes it would be about the sad things, but every now and then I’d shift to things regarding what I loved about myself. I’m talking about reflecting on my undiagnosed autism, or how inherently demisexual or queer I sometimes was (it will always fascinate me how I described crushes as “someone whose personality I’m attracted to”). Everything that’s made me unique has been looked over with a fine-toothed comb and I’m amazed at what I found. Is this narcissistic? I guess, but when you’re in desperate need of remembering what value you have in the world, sometimes you need to look back on your own legacy.
I guess to some extent that I’m not doing enough. Because I haven’t really reached out, I have mostly resolved my issues in a didactic fashion, forcing myself to have conversations that might hurt and forcing myself to push further. I’m sure there are other things that I’m overlooking, even if I consult therapeutic content creators like Kati Morton to understand various sensations I’m dealing with. I listen to Stay Strong Stay You, a podcast hosted by Becca Boston that my sister turned me onto. While they’re short episodes, the perspective of challenging your own perceptions has been helpful in making me see things differently. Even things as mundane as going for walks and dancing to hyper-pop have gotten stimulation back into my body.
If I have any evidence that I think I’m getting “better,” it can be found in simple perceptions. For me, depression is about limitations, restricting aspects of your life almost as a punishment. Most of them have been cognitive, thinking I don’t deserve to enter certain conversations even if they’re about how fun Godzilla vs. Kong (2021) was. I will feel overwhelmed by a negative comment, reading too much into it. Even the sense of scrolling through TikTok late at night was a good measurement. If I was doing it at 2:30 AM, as I did for five weeks straight, then I was depressed, knowing I wouldn’t be jumping out of bed first thing in the morning.
For the first time since October, I’m also watching more TV regularly, feeling a desire to see what amazing things are out in the world. I checked out Teenage Bounty Hunters (fun!), Why Are You Like This? (discordant), and Invincible (interesting!). I’ve been working through an Elliot Page marathon that has been like a warm, comforting hug. His Oprah Winfrey interview is also very good and I highly recommend checking it out, if just for how it explores the psychological turmoil of transgender youth and the struggle to be seen as yourself.
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| It's also nice to see an authentic autistic couple on TV |
Also, I am firmly in the camp who believes that Everything’s Gonna Be Okay is one of the best shows on TV right now… and not just because it has some amazing representation of both actually autistic characters and a queer platonic relationship that includes an asexual girlfriend (while I’m at it, I do love Selah and the Spades (2020) for the ace representation as well).
At the current moment, I have very little to show for my post-depression era. While I am still nervous that I will slide back into something unfathomable, I feel like things are stabling out. Despite a recent unfortunate death, I haven’t given in to my worst impulses as I did in December when a close friend contracted COVID-19. I’ve somehow processed it with a healthier disposition. This isn’t to say that I’m free of certain traits, notably intrusive thoughts, but they don’t feel as threatening at the moment. I’m able to shoo them away as I plan out my next two short stories, or my plan to do the fourth edit of my next novel (due Fall 2021). There’s so much that I have to look forward to and, again, a lot of it is merely perspective.
Love it or hate it, I’m listening to more third-wave ska and pop-punk. I’m enjoying Lana Del Rey’s “Chemtrails Over the Country Club” a little more each time. Even Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross’ work on Waves (2019) has been in constant rotation as I tap out essays. In these small ways, I’m finding myself filling my life with small symbols of meaning again. I’m allowing myself to enjoy goofy things like Dana’s “All Kinds of Everything.” There’s more laughter, more curiosity, and a willingness to explore. I also love The Good The Dan and The Florida Man podcast, if just because I'm slowly starting to believe that "Youth Pastor Ryan" Kelly isn't real (that man has lived a crazy life).
So to be honest, I am wanting to return to The Memory Tourist soon, but I just don’t have the focus right now. Maybe I’ll stop by for a review or a quick check-in for now. Until then, I’ll be constantly trying to find my ambition, praying that I only ever think of my depression in a creative and productive sense, using that period as inspiration for my art, to create something hopefully truthful and provocative, able to be seen as helpful to a reader in need.
I wish you, the reader, luck in your personal struggles. I’m sure everyone has suffered somewhat from the past year. I respect you for what you have done to make the world a better place and hope only the best for you. If you’re depressed, just know that it’s okay to be sad and working through a struggle. It’s healthy, actually. Don’t repress it. Confront it when you’re ready and try to come to terms with what makes you special and unique. I know that what works for me won’t necessarily work for you, but trust me. There will be good days and you’ll be able to appreciate them much more than someone who has been happy this entire time. You’ll understand the simple pleasures in life, and hopefully, have compassion for your fellow man knowing what potentially devastating things could be lying underneath. I’m going to try to be a better person, to have more empathy. It won’t solve everything, but I hope it makes you realize what I’ve been wanting to hear, which is that the world is good and that everything will be all right so long as we try to make it that way.
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