It seems that every stage of depression recovery comes with its own tortuous fear.
I’m depressed, and I’m afraid I’ll feel like this forever.
I’m depressed and can see recovery in the distance, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to handle it. What if I don’t even know who I am anymore?
I’m less depressed, and I’m afraid that if I give myself a break, everything will fall apart again.
I feel good, but I’m afraid that my depression will come back at any time.
I’m less depressed, and I’m getting out of the house and going for runs and doing yoga and going for hikes and doing the shopping and talking to neighbors and making appointments and I’m terrified. I’m terrified that if I stop even for a second, everything will fall apart. I’ll be right back where I started, in the deep nothingness of depression.
I wish it were easy to maintain balance; add a sprinkle of joy on this side, toss in a handful of rationality over here. But entropy won’t allow it, and neither will the laws of inertia. If an object at rest stays at rest, I must keep moving.
Except- there are outside forces acting on this object. I cannot keep moving indefinitely. Eventually, I must rest. Then, when I’ve replenished my energy, I’ll move again, each time becoming more and more balanced.