Recently, I was pressed by a friend to create a stozzy; tell an interesting story from my life that may intrigue, help, or inspire others. Now I am no author let me tell you, yet I decided to accept the challenge to see what I can do. This strange opportunity however has allowed me to accept some harsh truths within my own psyche and move past old traumas; and it all began with a simple story.
I sat down to write, pondering on what to express; maybe more importantly what I was comfortable to express. Days pass and one subject keeps arising above all else, a subject that I hoped to never express to another. And yet… this could finally be the chance to tell someone what I have experienced, why I am the way I am and maybe subconsciously, accept myself for who I had become. Yet I am still too afraid of allowing myself to become vulnerable. Well how else do you overcome fear? I do not know about you, but a bottle of wine never fails to loosen my tongue. Intoxication engulfs my body and emotions run high. Maybe I can finally tell the world of my story? I set to work, creating a story of tragedies and small hopes. The keyboard clattering away deep into the night; the second bottle of wine gradually but surely reducing in volume.
Done. My story finished. I send it to my friend, satisfied with my work I sleep, unknowing to the journey I have just began. I slip into my sleep and think “finally, someone will know what life I have been living. Finally, someone will know I am depressed and need help”.
As someone who has long lived within this mental state; I had convinced myself there was no way out. I had often attempted to escape the bottomless pit of despair, not understanding that the ladder I was climbing was old and rotten. For almost a decade I had existed in continuous mental suffering; never once allowing anyone to see the true extent of my depravity. The dialogue inside would often tell me “no one wants to hear your problems”, “look at you, pathetic” and my personal favourite “This feeling of emptiness will never leave you”. However, by finally allowing just one person to truly understand my thoughts, by being completely and utterly unrestrictive in my accounts, I found a resolution. I found acceptance. Not acceptance of living in eternal pain, but acceptance of the grief I have long lived with.
For me, depression found its way into my life after a painful breakup. Stereotypical I know; however, we all have a trigger and that was mine. As a teenager, I met someone who I truly believed was “the one” for me. I thought I had lucked out and found what the meaning in my life was at such a young age. Spoiler alert, this was not the case. We broke up and I found myself in a state of despair. Too afraid to talk to my family who perceived mental health issues as “made-up” conditions that you can think your way out of, and too ashamed to talk to any friends who would mock me for “being a wuss”, I kept quiet and searched for hope. For me, that hope was found by finally unlocking my academic potential and working tirelessly to study at my dream university. Far away from home, I could start a new life there and be free of the pain of what had been. For a time, this remained true at my new place of study. However, the past always catches up to you, no matter who or where you are.
Although I had achieved my aim of escaping my hometown, I found myself back with the girl previously mentioned. This re-affirmed my previous belief that I had found “the one”. I convinced myself that if after several years of separation, we could still find love that this must be the meaning in my life. I was wrong. We spent some time together but eventually broke-up. To simplify the story from here and get to the point, in the space of 2 years I went from believing I had found the true meaning in my life to… well here is a shortened list. Losing a long-term relationship with someone I thought I had found true meaning with, losing my childhood pet dog to old-age (this actually was far sadder than losing the girl if I’m honest), experiencing betrayal from a life-long friend who actively pursued the aforementioned girl the moment he found out we had separated, ending a second relationship due to insecurities carrying over from the first and far more issues I will not discuss here.
I felt I should discuss all of this to provide context to the eventual acceptance of grief I have recently found.
For a time (in years), I was living through severe grief from the loss of 4 close relationships, all at different stages of grief, but all with the same feeling of intense loss. By the time my friend asked me to write the stozzy mentioned in the intro, I could not even recognise the person I once was, and I wrote a story of pity and self-loathing. This opportunity allowed me to reflect, to see who I had become and understand that this is not who I should be, and that a change was needed to improve my life. Ironically, this would then initially lead me into a deeper disconnect from society. I investigated the schools of philosophy and concluded that on a cosmic level, our lives are so insignificant that any decision I make as an individual, is ultimately pointless.
It was not until after my disconnect from society though that I could see my own value again. To escape my own depression, I was required to allow myself to become broken down to the very essence of my core. To take a view of myself and establish what makes me, ‘me’. I now understand that although cosmically, life has no meaning, the fact that we exist at all shows that at an individual level, we give meaning to things and if I give things meaning then no matter what the scale is, it does in fact have meaning.
This leads back to today and understanding what happened when I allowed myself to write the story for my friend. I accepted the loss I had experienced and have permitted myself to move on from my loss. All situations are different, however for anyone reading this that is struggling with depression, hold in there and eventually you will find a way to let go of your grief. It will not easy or quick, but you will become a stronger person because of it. That I can guarantee.
By accepting the loss, I was able to find meaning in my life again. My friend asked me again to write a stozzy and this time, I had no hesitation on what would be written; a story this time not of desperation and internal ruin, but one of genuine hope and excitement for the future. So, I write this story as a thankyou to my friend (you know who you are) for opening a door I did not realise needed opening and allowing myself to accept the past and look forwards to tomorrow. Now do I believe that I am fully out of the woods? Ideally yes but realistically, no. To live is to experience suffering. Yet we cannot let the suffering become all consuming and learning how to manage the suffering with meaning is where we can find peace and become the best versions of ourselves. I’m not quite sure how to end these stozzy’s so I hope this helps you, the reader, in some way and have a nice day (or evening if that’s more your style).