Day 317: A garden without weeds is not enough

Hullo. I'm about to pass out, so best wing this off sharpish. I've been really good over the past year at being more aware of negativity, at noticing the intrusive automatic negative thoughts bombarding me, the patterns of rumination I fall back into.

This has been beneficial, but at the same time I need to work on nurturing the positives as well. It's like weeding the garden without planting better seeds - however much I pull up those shrubs they'll carry on coming back when there's nothing else being planted in the soil to grow.

I don't want to underplay my achievements. Every blog post - 317, and counting - is a seed. Many are planted in a rush, given the minimum water and light, never allowed to sprout beyond a small shoot. But some grow larger. And regardless, it is instilling within me, ingraining in me, the action of going to the soil and digging out space and planting a seed. It is the framework of action, of effort, of habit. It is good.

And I make my bed every single morning now, the first moment of the day one of care and assiduousness. I meditate (although not enough), write lists of gratitude (not enough), watch films that I'm interested in and write about them once a week.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I have been saying yes to things, pushing myself more. Working with Steve, taking over the pub's social media, taking on photography assignments, putting myself in situations in which I'm not comfortable and familiar. Include in this writing about subjects that I find difficult to speak about, my mental health, my struggles with acne.

I'm reading more books, fiction and non-fiction, playing fewer videogames, obviously not spending every day drinking beer and whisky and wine. I've been trying to socialise in ways that don't involve alcohol, seeing friends and playing board games and hanging out.

But a lot of this, vital though it is, has felt like faking it til I make it. It's been forced action without lightness or joy. I've not, simply put, enjoyed it. And more than enjoyment, which can be a shallow, transient thing, I haven't felt it.

What I've been is a highly depressed person forcing myself to do things that a non-depressed person would do. It helps, but at times it feels like guiding around one of those Flintstones cars powered by my feet sticking out the bottom, only made up on the outside to look like a modern machine. I get to be on the road, get to wave at other drivers, toot my horn - but inside there's no real engine, and the effort of pretending is grinding my feet to the bone.

So what I want to focus on more going forwards is how to feel good about my life. Not simply removing negativity, but purposefully developing positivity. Not just noting every instance of my brain telling me how wretched and pathetic and ugly I am, but encouraging, strengthening that other voice that thinks I've done a good job, that likes me, that enjoys and appreciates life.

I've got a bit of that now, and I want to pause here for tonight and just dwell on it. Ring it. Underline it. There is happiness in the world. There is humour and tranquillity and love.

One of the major symptoms of depression is anhedonia, the loss of the ability to take pleasure in previously pleasurable activities. The inability to feel love. But it can come back. It is coming back, slowly, for me. But it needs a little help along the way. The weeds need clearing away, sure, and continuously, as they freshly spread anew. But every time a little shoot of love pokes above the soil it needs to be cradled, shielded from harm, watered, allowed to bask in the warming light of awareness. A de-weeded garden isn't enough. There need to be flowers growing in the empty space.

Hopefully this is something I will get better at doing. Right now I'm allowing myself to feel good about giving it a try.