Depression isn’t always this heavy, unrelenting weight. Somedays, it almost feels like something manageable, like I can function normally, even enjoy the warmth of the sun on my skin. But that’s rare. Most of the time, it’s overwhelming. What triggers this shift? Is this simply the way depression works, or is there something deeper at play? Inevitably, I think it is the latter. The emptiness creeps back in, taking over, no matter how hard I fight. I’m exhausted. Yet, it always ends up the same: a feeling in my chest that sinuates the thought, “I don’t want to do anything. I want to curl up in my bed and simply not exist.” This continuous waking up every day to go back to sleep is not how I want to live my life, and I often find myself standing at the ledge—constantly teetering between making the jump or receding back to safety.

I don’t expect people to grasp this paradoxical feeling of wanting to give up on life while desperately desiring to live it to the full potential. I don’t even understand it myself—I’m just stuck navigating it. Since my diagnosis at the hospital this past summer, I’ve been focused on finding ways to keep going, to survive. Like everything else that life throws at me, I’ve sought out coping mechanisms to stay as healthy as I can. It isn’t always easy to stick to these habits, but they’ve become my lifeline—the fragile threads keeping me tethered to this world.

Seasonal depression is an undeniably real and challenging experience. When the sun begins to retreat during the winter months of the year, the depression rates skyrocket. This phenomenon can be traced back to our need for vitamin D, which plays an essential role in our overall health as well as directly impacting our serotonin levels—a key chemical in regulating mood. This is why I have implemented the practice of going outside for at least ten minutes every day. Whether it’s something as simple as walking to class, checking the mail, or just sitting on a bench, those few moments outdoors make a noticeable difference. When it’s raining, I find solace in sitting under our awning, letting the droplets brush my hand or arm. There’s just something about being outside that makes me feel, well, something. Surrounded by light and life,I step outside seeking to shed the dark cloud of my thoughts. Yet, even here, the paradox persists. But depression doesn’t yield so easily to sunlight. Though it offers temporary relief, the shadows remain, a constant reminder that my struggles are not easily solvable.

Being outside doesn’t magically cure my depression, and I don’t expect it to. Still, it provides a sense of relief, however fleeting. It’s not about seeking a miraculous solution; it’s about finding moments of calm and clarity amid the chaos of my mind. Those ten minutes each day remind me that while I may not be able to escape my struggles entirely, I can find ways to ease the weight, one small breath of fresh air at a time.

As an English major, two of my main hobbies are reading and writing—activities I genuinely love but that have become so intertwined with my course load they often feel much more like obligations rather than a sense of relaxation. Wanting a break from the constant analysis and creativity required by my schoolwork, I’ve explored hobbies that help me decompress. I’ve recently discovered a deep appreciation for several types of logical puzzles. Some of my all-time favorites are the games on LinkedIn and the New York Times, but I’ve also fallen in love with more intricate puzzles such as zebra puzzles, and escape-room type puzzles. They’ve allowed me to immerse myself in a scenario that requires a sharp focus and creativity. These games and puzzles allow me to engage my mind without the pressure of a deadline or grade.

I find so much peace when I let my brain solve a puzzle. There’s something profoundly calming about these mental exercises. Maybe it’s the thrill of finding solutions to problems that have clear answers—something life rarely offers. Here, once again, the paradox surfaces. In logic puzzles, I’ve discovered a sanctuary—a place where order reigns supreme and every problem has an answer. When everything else in my life feels messy and out of order, I turn to these puzzles to give me some sense of order and control. They’ve become a type of escape for me, a way to both challenge and soothe my mind. For just a little while, I can shift my focus away from the uncertainties of my reality and immerse myself in something I can solve, piece by piece.

Yet, even in these moments of clarity, I can’t fully escape the nagging reminder that my reality isn’t so neatly solvable. Yes, puzzles provide relief, a sense of control, but they also highlight the frustrating truth: life itself rarely follows such logical patterns. Perhaps that’s the beauty of the paradox—the simultaneous comfort and sting of finding solutions in a world that often lacks them.

My journey through depression hit an all-time low this past November. It was a time when the basic day-to-day tasks felt impossible. One of the things that helped me survive that time was keeping myself busy with productive activities, primarily working. Starting my job at the Sam Houston State University Dean of Students’ Office became, in many ways, a turning point in my journey. It isn’t just a source of income for me, it’s a lifeline for a sense of purpose and a reason to keep moving forward. I'm excelling here compared to my other past experiences, and the people here are also really kind. Everyone in this office is kind and they genuinely care about us as students and people. Unlike previous jobs, where I often felt disconnected or underappreciated, this one has been different. I’ve found a rhythm here that feels good—natural, even. The people in this office are not only kind but genuinely invested in supporting students as individuals, and that makes all the difference. Working in such a positive environment reminds me that life is a little brighter when you're surrounded by people you enjoy being around.

I love the miscellaneous tasks that my bosses give me because they make me feel like I am accomplishing something. I'm not usually the student that sits here on my phone when I don't have anything to do unless I'm having a dreadful day, and even then, I try to be productive. My favorite thing right now is to work on Instagram posts for the DOSO Instagram account because it allows me to be creative and productive at the same time, and it's helped me understand how to use Canva more than just finding a template to use and calling it a day. I'll also be given other tasks to complete that rely a lot on technology because I apparently get it. Excel and Word are my two Office applications that I'm best at using, but I've gotten some good practice with Publisher and Outlook as well. I am currently the only student who knows how to navigate the CMS for the school DOSO webpage, so I'm tasked with updating the SGA one often. Other than that, I am also primarily the one who will upload the SGA Senate Meetings to the SGA YouTube channel. These things help me to feel like I'm good at something, but they also give me outlets to use my skills in a productive way. Altogether, this job has given me more than just a way to stay busy—it’s helped me feel capable, skilled, and valuable. The tasks I complete may seem mundane to others, but for me, they represent progress, purpose, and the strength to keep moving forward, one project at a time.

Work, for me, represents another paradox. On the one hand, it gives me purpose, structure, and a reason to keep moving forward. I thrive in this environment, immersed in tasks that make me feel capable and valuable. Yet, even as I find fulfillment in these activities, I can't help but feel the weight of my depression lingering in the background.

Living with depression is a journey marked by contradictions, struggles, and moments of resilience. Right now, I find myself in another depressive episode, grappling with the same familiar weight that seems impossible to shake. But even in the midst of this darkness, I’m reminded of the tools and strategies I’ve developed to navigate these moments: going outside, discovering hobbies and finding purpose through work. They don’t erase the pain, but they help me hold on. This isn’t a story of victory or resolution; it’s a story of survival. I’ve come to understand that managing depression isn’t about reaching a definitive end but about finding ways to endure and move forward, even when it feels impossible. Today, I’m still learning how to hold on to the small, hopeful moments that remind me of life, in all its complexity, is worth fighting for.