How to get out of depression: the rest, let's live together.

I forget where I read a passage to the effect that quite a few people have had extreme ideas at some time or moment in their lives.

I had this idea in the spring of one year.

The emergence of this idea is a bit strange. Although some unhappy little things have happened in my life, they are generally calm, so I didn't realize when these negative emotions quietly accumulated to a very serious degree.

I was depressed at first, but then I had a dull pain in my chest for a long time, and my appetite went outside the cloud nine.

If there is such a thing as a mood axis, then the mood every day must be below the zero axis. I don't know how others feel when they are depressed. I just feel like a zombie, and all my senses are weakened to the extreme.

Although I have never suffered from insomnia, I just want to sleep endlessly. Waking up every day is a heavy helplessness and burden.

Under the disguise of pretending to be calm and calm, people around you probably think everything is normal.

Only one friend once asked me doubtfully, "What's wrong with you recently?" When I said with a little sob, "Sometimes I think I can jump off a building and get rid of it." Not only he but also I was shocked.

Yes, I lived on the 19 floor, standing on the balcony, corridor or the window outside the elevator and looking down, the traffic was nervously crowded on the unreasonable road.

Spring has come, and the smog accumulated in a winter is slowly giving way to a barely clear sky.

Many times, I looked at the distant ground and laughed as if it were 108 thousand miles away, and the idea that "I can't live if I jump from here" came out. The cold wind blew a chill, and I woke up and stepped back.

Of course, I don't have the courage to die, but I remember those breath-holding moments that haunt me day and night, which are longer than the nightmares that I can't wake up.

I did some stupid things during that time, such as losing my diary for a long time and deleting all the negative comments left on social networks.

I also watched a lot of scary movies that I didn't dare to watch before, and my heartbeat in less than a few seconds verified a feeling of being alive or alive, confirming that I am not a walking corpse.

I also found many strange books in the small corner of the library for the first time, such as tarot fortune telling, such as mysterious astrology and fate. I'm going to try to explain that my emotional abnormality is only a short-term fluctuation. Unfortunately, no.

This is the longest spring in memory. Particles of dust are clearly visible in the strong sunlight, but I can't see any light. That kind of feeling is a bit like Hegel's Night of the World.

I miss them most in the darkness that seems I can never escape.

Teenagers are always 16 years old.

Because I went to school early, I started studying in Grade Three in September when I was fifteen, and my favorite friend just had his sixteenth birthday. September is such a good season. The summer heat is fading, and the clouds are towering. Riding through the street trees, you can only see the bright spots in the shadows.

It was at that late night that he swallowed sleeping pills at the foot of the dark mountain and stayed at the age of sixteen forever.

Reading the book the next morning, all the scenery and people remained the same. Some people are reciting "Into the Wine", while others are reciting the contents of Wang Anshi's political reform. A lively campus is no different from peacetime.

Our mutual good friend stood at the door and told me to go out. I looked blankly at her red eyes and told my deskmate to help me hand in my math homework before going out.

Under the long corridor of the school garden, she cried and said, "I'll tell you something." Don't be sad. "

I can't guess what it is. For me at that time, the biggest thing was just failing the monthly exam. So although I was very nervous, I still saw the morning sun turn her forehead hair into warm yellow.

But suddenly he said, "He's gone." What do you mean "gone"?

I have known him for five years, from grade one to grade three. Since the age of ten, we have been taking classes in the next class, taking exams in the same examination room and passing by as class representatives in the same office countless times.

The night he left, we met in the canteen, and he bowed his head slightly as a greeting. Unexpectedly, that was the last time. The most familiar smile on weekdays turned into a farewell.

Before that, I knew that he was a little autistic and depressed, but even if I had to make the most arrogant assumption, I never thought that he would come that far.

Besides, he is the one who should spend his shining life most. He is gentle, modest and prudent, as handsome as a medieval prince. He walks down the corridor with a bright halo every day. He sang Broken String with a little shyness in class.

He wears headphones to listen to Jay Chou's songs. When he saw me, he took off his headphones and said, "I like him best." . He stood on the small playground at dusk, smiling slightly. It just reminds me of the lyrics "I look at you in the sunset, and you are worried about running water". He bears almost all my yearning and impression of a boy's beauty.

But with a bang, he disappeared as easily as a soap bubble.

It was in that autumn that I understood what Watanabe wrote to Naoko in Norwegian Forest: "Since you left, autumn has deepened day by day. So I still don't know whether it's because of your departure or the change of seasons. There seems to be a big hole in my heart. "

Another autumn passed, and Jay Chou released a new album "Xiang Tao". He sang, "Why should people be so fragile and degenerate?" Sing it again: "How many people are working hard for their lives and bravely going on".

It's a pity that he will never hear it again. He doesn't know that another friend wrote in his diary that the world is so good, how can you be willing to leave? Behind so many people's memories and so many people's disappointment, what we didn't say was, "I wish you were still alive."

It was also in that year that grandma died of cancer. Because of chemotherapy before her death, she suffered a lot, lost weight, and even had difficulty drinking water, as if it were a punishment. But she still held my hand and asked me word by word, is the summer vacation over? When does school start? I didn't answer, but turned my back and burst into tears.

There are so many people who desperately want to live, and some people give up their young lives so easily. But I understand his decisive choice and his last infinite attachment to grandma.

Forgive me for not trying to think about the meaning of life and death even though I have had countless impulsive thoughts.

Only when I was most difficult and desperate, his determination and her persistence told me to live. Live.

God, I cry to you from the abyss.

In the late spring when I barely lived in the darkness of the world, I reread Kafka by the Sea and saw this passage written by Haruki Murakami:

"In some cases, fate is similar to a local sandstorm that constantly changes direction. You change your pace and try to avoid it, only to find that the sandstorm changes its pace just like you. You change your steps again, and so does the sandstorm-so many times, just like an unlucky dance with death before dawn.

This is because sandstorms don't come from any distant place. In other words, that guy is you. What do you have?

So what you can do is to step into the sandstorm, cover your eyes and ears tightly to prevent the dust from entering, and go through it step by step. There is probably no sun, no moon, no direction, and sometimes no time, only white dust as fine as broken bones hovering in the sky-just imagine that sandstorm. "

It turns out that I am a "man walking in the desert".

The desert is more empty than the sandstorm, but I have to go out. In my new diary, I wrote like this.

Crossing the desert without sun, moon, direction and time. I want to live, not to linger, but to live again, just like all normal people.

I don't know how to save myself. I often skip classes on Friday and travel on Thursday night.

I saw the sea in several nearby cities. On a sunny day, a light rain, a cold morning and a hesitant evening, the sea looks different, sometimes mild, sometimes with a turbulent momentum.

Once it rained heavily, I held a rickety umbrella and watched the waves rolling towards me, letting the cold rain wet my hair. Its openness made me forget something.

I almost joined a religion. The movie "The Sixth Sense" said that in Europe a long time ago, people would hide in churches for protection.

The unhappy boy hid his thin body behind the spacious church, decorated the small porcelain statue of Jesus as an niche space, and read "God, I call out to you from the abyss" in Latin.

Although I still can't believe that God is an objective thing, I will still take a long bus to the ancient church at the other end of the diagonal of the city every Sunday morning. Its cracked walls are like wrinkles of the elderly, which makes people feel relaxed, appropriate and dependent.

Most of the worshippers are grandmothers. I closed my eyes with them, buried my head and read the long Lord's prayer: "Our father in heaven, may everyone hallow your name." .

May your kingdom come, and your will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us our daily food today. Forgive our debts as we forgive others. Don't let us fall into temptation, but save us from evil. Because the country, power and glory will always be yours. Amen. "I don't know why, these short words gave me wonderful peace.

Sometimes we read Job together.

God wanted to test Job's sincerity, so he took his wife, children, household servants, livestock, belongings and everything, leaving only one servant stumbling back: "I am the only one who escaped, and I will tell you."

Crawling on the vast land with nothing, he asked: I am so pious, why should I suffer so much? I wrote that sentence again and again in my diary as an answer. It said, "We are light to temporary suffering in order to achieve our eternal glory."

At other times, I went to the library to find a lot of books about psychology, although they may not be very professional, and they are useless.

In order to make myself happy, I began to list the wonderful moments in my life in my diary every night before going to bed until the list became longer and longer. Take a photo every day, develop it and hang it on the desk, and watch them become more and more colorful.

In this day and night against myself, I vaguely saw a corner of the curtain opened at night, and the light came in, as if all the shouts had been redeemed.

Everything is nonsense except love.

When early summer came, something happened at school. A 25-year-old graduate student who was about to graduate jumped from another dormitory building and died in panic.

I was at home when it happened, and when I came back, the wind had died down and the bustling discussion had cooled down. I only heard that even her parents and boyfriend didn't realize that there was anything earth-shattering enough to subvert her life.

This is nothing new in any university, but the indifference brought by habit can only create more tragedies.

My friend's father is a psychologist and a visiting professor at a university. Every year, groups of students and teachers are sent to him for medical treatment, some can be saved, some can't be saved, and many young figures and bright smiles finally sigh.

But I watched us walk through the cement floor countless times for a long time, imagining that she must have struggled countless times at the window before she decided to get rid of the stagnant mood.

It was the first time I shed tears for a stranger I had never met. Maybe we study in the same classroom and stagger our shoulders in the same canteen countless times.

We should have formed an alliance in similar pain, holding each other's hands and crossing the darkness together, so as not to let the desert take away precious flesh and blood.

After the tears, I only felt that she took away the heaviest part of my body, more light came in, and the night ended little by little.

Later, about one morning at the end of June, there was a final exam that day. When I woke up sweating, several other girls were complaining about the hot weather and scrambling to put on their clothes in the loud alarm.

The bright sunshine shines on the curtain in the corner above my head. Something seems to be wrong. After a few seconds, I realized that the long-lost peace was back.

The dull pain in the chest disappeared without a trace, and even a little bit of happiness was mixed. All familiar worldly things smell fresh.

I know, I'm from the desert.

Later, I was completely well, alive and kicking as before, and my loud voice and cold jokes even intensified. Talking a lot, singing out-of-tune songs and laughing loudly restored the appearance of pistachio in the eyes of all my friends.

But I know that there are some contents that have changed quietly under the appearance of a quiet life. The core of the body and soul has been split and broken, and then re-bonded.

Everything I believed in before-high education, good school, future salary, positive praise from others-has become frivolous since then, and those stubborn pasts have been erased bit by bit.

I still need to work to make a living and socialize, but for the first time, I feel that the most fascinating thing in life is just a warm hug from my mother, postcards written by old friends, or even a hearty iced coke on a crowded and hot bus at noon.

It turns out that the best thing is to live.

Let's live together.

Mu Xin said in Memoirs of Literature that every movement of Beethoven tells people to love the world.

This is what I've been trying to say since I got out of the desert.

If this experience must be defined as the harvest of growth, it is-don't dwell on the past, don't make a living in the unknown.

After that, I can find the beauty of life more and more from the nuances. When people minimize their desires, all the ordinary things they get have an inexplicable surprise. And those who bound me in every way, "everything is chasing the wind, and everything is empty."

During this time, I received unprecedented attention, replies and inquiries. Perhaps the "positive energy" that most people pay attention to is only the surface. The core of those words is actually love, as I wrote to my mother-"Everything is nonsense except love".

If these words have cured so many people you have never met, it is probably because they cured me first.

Because only I know that all these bits and pieces of "positive energy" come from my struggle in the desert alone, from my struggle in thirst, from my retreat in front of the window, from my repeated self-comfort and persuasion, from my gratitude that I am still alive, safe and healthy, and this gratitude will never die.

If you have ever walked out of the desert, I know that there must be something indestructible behind your vague smile. I believe that the road in your heart will be smooth in the future.

If you have never walked through the desert, I hope you will never go. Because the world is full of moonlight and stars, and the feelings are sincere and worth loving.

The rest, let's live together

Live up to this spring, and the mountains and waters along the way are long.

After that? commemorate

When writing this article, I saw two pieces of news. One is "the graduate students of history department committed suicide because of unbearable graduation thesis and employment pressure", and the other is "the deputy editor-in-chief of a newspaper committed suicide because of great work pressure".

The news sounds painful. If words can have power, even if any talk about life and death is illusory, I still want to say, live, try to live and see if something good will happen.

How I hope you will always be happy and always smile.