Gratitude (Finally) Taught Me What It Means To Be Human

I healed the lowest depression of my life, never to relapse.

A cosmic moment collecting mussels on the beach (author’s photo from Nova Scotia, Canada).

After four months of “living the dream” working a prestigious government job in Canada’s capital, I had major depressive disorder.

I didn’t see the sun most of the week, was a disempowered pawn at work, and had little sense of community in a new city. Added was the marginalization inherent in being a queer person of color: a minority within a minority.

The mental soup of misery had been simmered to perfection, and I hardly wanted to exist.

Upon returning home to Toronto, I began suffering social anxiety attacks for the first time. My nervous system seemed physically drained of vitality, with any disturbing stimulus “zapping” it into misery mode.

Naturally, I blamed it all on my external surroundings: this is oppressing me, those are the ways of colonizers! My wrathful embrace of social justice warriorhood, however, did not fix my problems.

This is the story of how I realized not how much was profoundly other-ing and oppressive about the world, but everything that was at fault within myself.

One decision I made, in desperation, changed the entire trajectory of my life: packing my bags and moving to…