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# The Undiscovered Country of Getting Better
- URL: https://fessup.mymidnight.blog/the-undiscovered-country-of-getting-better/
- Published: 2026-04-29T14:02:11.000Z
- Updated: 2026-10-07T16:11:30.000Z
- Description: After 35 years of suffocating depression, I finally used the last of my air to speak up.
- Author: Jerry Fess
- Tags: disability, hope, psychiatrist, friendship, surviving, self-care, clutter, advocacy, advocate, existential dread, writing, Star Trek, gratitude, depression, grief, therapist, mental health, treatments, relationships, writing out loud, full disclosure, darkness, gay, warp speed, highlysensitiveperson, world of warcraft, final frontier, dog, new beginnings, Spravato, anxiety, reinvention, Newsletter, #Migrated-1791389245739, #Import 2026-10-07 11:10

The place looked abandoned while I was still living in it.

There were corners I had stopped seeing. Piles that became part of the landscape. Surfaces that quietly testified to how far gone I was. The wreckage was heavy, and it was everywhere.

I was sleeping on the couch because my bedroom had become a place I couldn’t rest in anymore. It held too many bad memories, and even comfort felt inaccessible there.

![](https://cdn.mymidnight.blog/faafda66202d234463057972460c04f5/2026/10/de3da612-add4-4231-af42-e651b21f0c73_5712x4284-jpeg.jpg)

One side of my bedroom pre-clutter and clean.

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People talk about advocating for yourself like it’s a basic life skill.

Make the call. Ask the question. Speak up. Push back. Request help.

Simple enough.

Unless you’re deeply depressed.

Then even brushing your teeth can feel like a negotiation. Sending a text can feel like climbing a wall. When depression gets severe enough, self-advocacy doesn’t feel empowering; it feels impossible. The condition itself drains the energy required to challenge it.

I was barely eating. I was sleeping as much as I could, and when I couldn’t, I’d doomscroll until it was time to try again. I was tired in a way sleep doesn’t fix.

But one thing never slipped.

My dog was always cared for.

![](https://cdn.mymidnight.blog/faafda66202d234463057972460c04f5/2026/10/a9db5027-9186-4b57-a668-daf8512c47cb_3024x4032-jpeg.jpg)

My dog Pepper.

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Fed. Walked. Looked after. Loved.

Even when I couldn’t care for myself, I never wavered on her care. I wouldn’t do that to an animal.

And yet, I was doing it to myself.

## The Last Stand

I had been through more than two years of esketamine (*Spravato*) treatments. I had just lost my therapist of ten years. One of the guiding rails in my life had fallen away, and the weight of everything else was crashing down.

I got to a point where something in me said: enough.

Not in a dramatic movie-scene way. More like a final inner whisper that somehow carried authority.

I had told myself *enough is enough* many times over thirty-five years of torture. Nothing changed then.

But this time, I took the last bit of air I had left in my lungs and I used it to speak.

I talked to my psychiatrist and told her everything. I told her things had to get better. I insisted.

![](https://cdn.mymidnight.blog/faafda66202d234463057972460c04f5/2026/10/4841c913-1045-4481-99ba-4d87dd35e2dd_1536x1024.png)

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We decided on one more medication tweak.

To someone on the outside, a “tweak” sounds small.

To me, it was the final throw of the dice.

Within a month, something shifted.

Not perfection. Not a new personality.

But relief.

Space.

A little light where there had only been pressure.

Enough change to realize I was still in there somewhere.

## Reclaiming the Room

I started decluttering my apartment, but I focused on my bedroom first.

If I was going to keep getting better, I had to reinvent the wheel. I had to reclaim the room I had abandoned.

![](https://cdn.mymidnight.blog/faafda66202d234463057972460c04f5/2026/10/28f89724-a741-4f74-8b69-903b989ea939_5712x4284-jpeg.jpg)

My apartment living room in the midst of reclaiming my space.

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I took before and after photos to show my friends.

I had a will to live that just smacked me in the face and woke me up somehow.

I didn’t do it entirely in a vacuum.

I have incredible friends who helped just by being there. They took me out to dinner when I couldn’t face my own kitchen. They gave me the space to talk about the real stuff—the heavy, messy, unfiltered reality—without judgment.

Their presence was a quiet reminder that I wasn’t invisible, even when I felt like a ghost in my own home.

With that support behind me, I tackled the physical space:

- One pile.
- One bag.
- One surface.
- One decision at a time.

I rearranged the furniture to make the space new.

I started projects, like putting together my mom’s book of original poetry.

I started wanting to fill my days with being alive.

## The Reality of Maintenance

I don’t want to throw false hope at anyone.

I’m not some perfect person now.

I’m still dealing with grief, loneliness, and uncertainty.

I still have moments where my stomach drops and I’m terrified this is a fluke. I’ve posted cryptic messages on Facebook like, *It’s okay to have a bad day, right?* because I was scared this new version of me was just another failed attempt waiting to collapse.

But I’m still sticking to my routine.

I’ve had really bad weeks where I knew I had to stick to the routine no matter what.

And it worked.

I’m working with a new therapist.

My apartment is still in great shape—I cannot cheat in that area.

![](https://cdn.mymidnight.blog/faafda66202d234463057972460c04f5/2026/10/fedfd7f3-f314-4141-92be-e9c98b22f080_1536x1024.png)

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I game online playing World of Warcraft with wonderful new friends.

I’m seeing my mom.

I’m getting out more everyday.

And I have the best relationship with my dog I’ve ever had.

She is thriving even more than I am.

Sometimes healing is not a miracle.

Sometimes it is maintenance.

Sometimes it is routine.

And sometimes, that is more powerful than magic.

I’m still trying to take the reins of my own carriage into unknown territory.

I never believed I’d be here, but I am finally at the starting line.

*To boldly go...*

![a computer generated image of a star field](https://images.unsplash.com/photo-1637306540152-ea00426e6b19?crop=entropy&cs=tinysrgb&fit=max&fm=jpg&ixid=M3wzMDAzMzh8MHwxfHNlYXJjaHw1N3x8d2FycCUyMHNwZWVkfGVufDB8fHx8MTc3NzQ3MDI2NHww&ixlib=rb-4.1.0&q=80&w=1080)

Photo by [Salim Doukani](https://unsplash.com/@salim222?ref=fessup.mymidnight.blog) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/?ref=fessup.mymidnight.blog)

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***I’m still terrified sometimes that this progress is a fluke. If you’ve experienced a ‘lift’ in your own life, how do you handle the fear of it ending?***

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