There’s a bit more to depression than that. First of all, ‘cure’ is a bit of a stretch. Continuing struggle. Daily challenge. That’s closer to the truth.
And, there’s more to the Foster cure for depression than kindness. Though I still maintain that helping others, getting outside my own head and needs and whining, is the most potent ingredient in the cure.
But I left out a few steps yesterday, I admit that.
There’s also exercise. The fact that walking, moving around, helps with depression is fairly clear evidence to me that our minds and bodies are intricately connected.
There’s abstinence. Don’t panic. Abstinence not celibacy. I don’t drink. Alcohol is a depressive. I know, I know. You think it’ll make you feel better. It won’t. Or, at least, for me the positive effects are short-term while the negative repercussions are long-term. Yes. Yes. Several people in my family have explained to me that my opinion on this means simply that I’m not drinking enough. Still, for me, drinking is counter-productive. So I don’t do it.
There’s self-talk. I have a little loop in my head that, if I’m not careful, says things like, Why do you even try? and What makes you think you can do that? and Who the hell do you think you are? Since my mother’s still alive, I’m not going to tell you whose voice whispers these things in my ear. I rip out this tape. Over and over. But, still, I do rip it out. Replace the negative with positive self-talk.
Then, last and most important, there’s friends. People who love me and support me and tell me I’m great and wonderful and talented and, well, just a galldurned saint and they’re lucky to know me.
So. There’s the rest of the Foster cure for depression. The parts I left out of yesterday’s post.
It’s a lifelong treatment.