I am at the Relentlessly Cheerful Diner, a cup of coffee at my side. The cook is rustling up an omelet and sautéed spinach for me. I have a couple of pieces of copywriting to do this morning. Easy work. Good work for a good client.

Earlier today, I took my son to school. He was bright and cheerful and had plans for the afternoon. We talked about music and theatrical lighting, a particular love of his. I smiled as I dropped him off, quietly rejoicing at how he has blossomed since moving up with me about a year ago.

After letting him off, I drove here. There is still a faint whiff of perfume from the last visit with the woman I love. I had to smile. I feel particularly blessed by her, someone I can talk to so freely and safely it is like talking to myself, someone who encourages me when sometimes, I have trouble encouraging myself. She is a constant joy. Truely.

Yeah, life is good. Not perfect, but good.

I still battle depression. I have my days when I don’t want to crawl out of bed, when I feel flat, when enjoying life is hard. But they are less now than at any point in the last decade and a half. There is stuff to do on the house and the cars need work. I struggle with being good enough. I always feel I can do more, even if that is not always the case. I have the same health problems and money problems and other issues most everyone else has. There’s no Camelot in this life, I can tell you. But all in all, life is good.

Why am I writing this?

Part of it is because it seems a miracle to me. I spent so much time in the black hole that I assumed that was where I would stay forever. To be in this good place is a breathtaking.  I called it a miracle? It is.

But part of it is to let others know there is a path out. It can get better. It’s worth the fight Even when we don’t win entirely, we can win a lot. We can gain much of our joy again, and it’s magnificent. And if I can crawl back, as broken as I was, anyone can do it.

Not alone of course. Science and experience have pretty much proved we can’t get through depression alone. I got through with a cast of characters ranging from therapists, pastors, friends who listened and learned and encouraged me while I fought the battle, both physical and emotional. No, we don’t dig out of our black hole alone.

Not easily either. It’s work. Work when we don’t feel like working. Work that is sometimes painful. Work that for a while seems to be doing little good. I’ll never be cured. I’ll always be battling. That’s not a bad thing. It’s just the reality.

And certainly not instantly. The medications don’t fix everything. They just make it better so we can do the hard work of putting our brain in its place. They are a step, and there are many steps. It will take years. Not it might take years, it WILL take years ,

But stick with it, Fight the battle day in and day out and there’s an incredible reward ahead of you. Joy. Strength. Confidence. Personal Power. And an enjoyment of life that once was lost.

When I began this series on my own depression a year or so ago, I got a lot of feedback. Most were kind – talking about how it helped. Some though were negative – accusing me of wanting the world to feel sorry for me and in effect telling me to shut up.

But shutting up is the wrong thing to do. If we live in darkness and don’t share, no one will know. No one will help. We will not get better. Battles are not fought alone. Or rather, battles that we win are not fought alone.

So my friends, fight the fight. Gather your army. Know the war is long.

But also know there is beauty on the other side. Amazing, joy and beauty. Trust me on this one. I;ve been there.

Be well. Travel wisely,

Tom