Pharrell Williams knows how I feel
As a clam
I am happy today. I think I was happy yesterday too, maybe I’ll be happy tomorrow. I certainly was not happy a month ago. I vividly remember being depressed. Or what I call ‘depressed’, the PHQ-9 might call it ‘moderately depressed’. My wife asked if I had taken vitamin D recently. Seasonal symptoms of Scandinavian January tend to get me around this time, so this was well-intentioned and probably astute. But when I’m moderately depressed, I feel like this is a crucial part of my personality and condition. A core ingredient to my identity, an inevitable swing of the pendulum. When the pendulum stops swinging, I will stop existing. Nothing vitamin D could cure, and the mere suggestion shows that she really doesn’t get me.
Of course, it’s probably me that doesn’t get me and I anxiously bristle at the idea that anyone knows things better than me. At least things that I should know. So I’ve taken my vitamin D, I’ve continued working out, I’ve upped my daily calories from an extreme deficit to a slightly less extreme deficit, I’ve been social and tried to practice good sleep routines. And now I’m happy! Is there a causal relationship? Maybe, but probably I’m happy because I’ve spent irresponsible amounts of money on new hobbies. I was moderately depressed because I had nothing new and shiny to give me joy. Or the other way around? And why is it so much easier to write about being unhappy?