An unwelcome friend, over-staying their welcome.  This is how I am learning to view my depression.  A friendship I do not want to nurture, but present nonetheless.  

The origins of my disease harkens back to my childhood, the environment I grew up in and the relationships I was born into.  I can understand now, how I’ve adopted early coping mechanisms for survival that no longer serve me in adulthood. 

Maybe depression isn’t so much a friend, but a messenger.  There is a deeper message to take in,  with patience and a compassionate curiosity to listen. 

Pain requires my ultimate presence. 
Still, after crying, and feeling sorry for myself, there is still work to be done.  (Gotta put on my big boi pants)  What is the point of diagnosis, if not a search for the cure?  I am very slowly, learning to re-assess my yamas and niyamas.  

Knowledge should lead to action, even when I feel like a piece of shit. 

…“to one of discrimination, everything is painful,” it becomes, “To one of discrimination, everything is pleasurable”. 

                                                 The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali