The first week I didn’t feel much of anything, but things stopped feeling less hopeless. I was… overly optimistic about everything or almost uncaring, but in a positive way. Tather than “what’s the point” it became “what’s the point of worrying? Things will work out however they work out.”
I felt… light. Like a weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. I remember walking around and feeling almost as if I was floating.
Eventually taking medication just became part of my daily routine, almost as unconscious as brushing my teeth. My depression wasn’t as strong, and when it hit me, it didn’t last as long as it usually did. Eventually I started to feel normal, well aware that bad things happen and it’s okay to feel sad, disappointed, angry or just rotten about them – that’s just normal human emotion. But at the same time, I could finally just accept things and started to view my problems as surmountable. My failures did not mean I was a failure myself – just that I had unfortunate circumstances or had made a mistake. It wasn’t the end of the world, and I didn’t beat myself up for it.