I was going to put this in the depression/anxiety forum, but figured it made more sense in my intro. A little backstory before I get to the problem/question. I'm nearing 40 and have struggled with depression and feelings of failure my whole life. That's the best way I've ever known how to explain it. Quitting all my vices has added a little better description. Now please note that to the outside world, I'm blessed, lucky, happy, insert positive description of me here. They would all work because that's how the outside world sees me. The demons lie only in my head.
But here's the deal with quitting. I can't find joy in it. I can laugh my ass off at my kids and immediately thereafter the joy is gone. I can have sex with my wife, and aside from the joy of looking forward to it and the act itself, the joy is just so short-lived. I can accomplish something around the house, and there is very little pride in having done it. It just seems as though I just can't maintain or even manufacture long stretches of pure, unbridled joy, and it beats me down pretty badly.
Now I know somebody is going to come back and say that the joy of little quit victories is enough to sustain joy in life. To that I say we are clearly all different because depression is a different animal, I think. I'm on Welbutrin, but I'm terrible at taking it consistently. I think it mellowed me in the beginning, but there was still no joy.
I had this crazy night where all of us were in the car together, me, my wife, daughter, and baby, and one of those random car conversations turned into this goofy five minutes of driving down the road honking at everybody and everything for no real reason at all, and it was pure joy for all of us. The joy just didn't last. It never lasts. It never lasts long enough to give me some kind of motivation to find a new hobby, take on a project for more than about 30 minutes, or to keep the question out of my mind that I've battled my whole life in "What the hell is the point of us even being here?" which is a troubling question to ask if you really, really think about the implications of it swimming in your noggin for most of your life.
So where's my joy in this? I don't want to go back to all my fucking vices because my depression is actually worse while on them, so when does the joy come? For years my wife wondered why they weren't enough for me; why didn't my family give me the happiness that dip and beer and gambling gave me? I never could give her an answer. I can't answer her now when she asks how I'm doing and the only thing I know is that I am depressed and have a lot of trouble finding joy in life.
So is it just time? Will time away from killing myself actually teach me how to find joy and live life? I started out so positive and upbeat, and I still have those moments. I have a lot of them actually. They just don't last. I'm not bipolar. It's not THAT bad. It's just sustaining enough joy to learn how to love life. I just can't do it. Anybody who can comment with any insight or experience in this would be greatly appreciated.