What We Let In, We Become
I can’t count all the times I was driving alone in my car when an emotional song came on the radio, and it instantly changed my mood. I felt like an actor in a movie, playing out a scene, staring through the window with that familiar poignant, dramatic expression and tears in my throat. Then there were times I went to see an exciting action or superhero film and left the theater feeling like a superhero myself. Does this sound familiar? What about infatuations with movie and television characters, no matter how terrible the sort? I had a crush on Dexter, a serial killer of all characters I could’ve found attractive, and it isn’t something to be proud of. David from The Lost Boys. Legolas from The Lord of the Rings. Tyler Derden. Girls and young women become obsessed with pop stars to the point they faint meeting them or even begin to stalk them.
What we choose to engage in and give our time, attention, and love dramatically affects our moods, personalities, and lifestyles.
If we read depressing books, we can become sad and discouraged. Reading scary or traumatizing books can make us distressed or on edge. If we read steamy, romantic books, we swoon, feel lonely and incomplete even though we’re married, and become aroused by someone other than our husbands or wives.
Too often, we become addicted to certain moods, sometimes without realizing it, like women who read erotica or men who look at pornography. Both are damaging to one’s soul; they become lifestyles and make us do, say, think, and feel things that are harmful to others and ourselves. We can even become addicted to depression if we surrender to it for too long.
That was me for most of my adult life. I was addicted to depression because I had lived with it for so long that I didn’t know anything else. I was comfortable in it because nothing was more familiar. For decades, I surrounded myself with depressing things, watched dark and depressing movies, and read dark and depressing books, which only heightened its effects. And whenever I got too close to a bit of joy, I ran in the other direction. Compliments made me uncomfortable. I refused invitations to family get-togethers, and going outdoors was too inconvenient. I knew, deep down, that participating in these seemingly insignificant things had the great potential to change my mood. I didn’t refuse because I was depressed; I refused because I was addicted to depression and didn’t want to change it.
Again, what we choose to engage in and give our time, attention, and love dramatically affects our moods, personalities, and lifestyles.
Am I insinuating that depression is a choice?
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