“My-Pace Marathon” with a Friend Battling Depression
One day, my friend A, who has been dealing with depression, said to me:
“Recently, I just can’t muster any motivation, no matter what I do. Why does life have to be so exhausting?”
I nodded earnestly. “I get it. Sometimes, just putting on my socks makes me feel like I’ve completed all my missions for the day.”
A chuckled. “Putting on socks can actually be pretty challenging. Especially when you can’t find one of them.”
That’s when an idea struck me. “Let’s run a marathon.”
“A marathon?” A looked at me, surprised.
“Yeah! But not a regular marathon—let’s do a ‘My-Pace Marathon.’ You can start and finish at the same place. You don’t even have to run. Heck, you can take a nap in the middle if you want!”
A widened their eyes and asked, “Isn’t that… not a marathon?”
“It’s totally fine because it’s our rules. Let’s just head to the starting line. If you feel like it, you can take one step, and that counts as a victory.”
And so, we went to a nearby park and began our “My-Pace Marathon.” For the first hour, we just sat on a bench, drank tea, and chatted. Finally, A took one step forward.
“Wow! A, you’re the champion!” I clapped my hands.
Laughing, A said, “What even is this? But… I feel a little lighter now.”
“That’s life, right? You don’t have to go full throttle all the time,” I said.
Then, A took another step and said, “Okay, the next step will be after a nap.”
Depression and the “Cushion Conference”
One day, my friend B, who struggles with depression, declared, “I’m done. I can’t do anything. Today, I’m becoming best friends with my bed!” and burrowed under the covers.
I responded, “Ah, I see. You’ve got a bed conference today.”
“A conference?” came B’s voice from beneath the blankets.
“Exactly! A bed conference. The members are the blanket, the pillow, and all the cushions. You’re the chairperson, so you’ll need to decide today’s agenda!”
“…What are you even talking about?” B peeked out from under the blanket.
“First, Cushion A has a proposal: ‘It’s better not to leave the house at all today.’ What’s your take on that?”
“I agree with that one.”
“Alright, then Cushion B’s opinion: ‘We might as well get delivery for dinner tonight.’ Shall we adopt that proposal too?”
B chuckled. “Of course, I agree with that!”
“Excellent. Unanimous approval! Next up, Pillow has a suggestion: ‘We should extend today’s nap by 30 minutes.’”
“That’s immediately approved by the chairperson!”
“But Blanket has a dissenting opinion: ‘It’s better to keep lounging around instead of napping.’”
With a serious expression, B said, “In that case, let’s reach a compromise: we’ll allocate some lounging time before the nap.”
“Chairperson, outstanding leadership! With that, today’s bed conference has successfully concluded. Cushion C will handle the minutes.”
B burst into laughter and said, “If all meetings were this silly, I wouldn’t mind having one every day.” For the first time in a while, they seemed a little brighter.
Depression and the “Useless Person Championship”
One day, my friend C, who struggles with depression, said with a serious expression:
“I’m such a useless person. I can’t do anything right… nothing ever works out for me.”
That’s when an idea popped into my head. “That’s amazing! You’ve finally decided to enter the Useless Person Championship!”
“Huh? What’s that?” C asked, looking confused.
“It’s the Useless Person Championship! A global competition to see who can proudly embrace their uselessness. The qualifiers are being held remotely at home right now.”
C looked slightly intrigued. “So, how do I enter?”
“It’s simple. You earn points by doing useless things. For example, did you skip breakfast today?”
“Yeah, I didn’t eat.”
“Wow, +10 points! What about brushing your teeth?”
“…I didn’t do that either.”
“Fantastic! +20 points. And if you’ve been lounging around in your pajamas all day, you get bonus points!”
“I’ve been in my pajamas the whole time.”
“Impressive! That’s 50 points! You’re currently ranked #1.”
Laughing, C said, “Wait a minute. Doesn’t that just make me a lazy person?”
“Nope! This is about mastering the art of being ‘useless.’ But here’s the real twist: the secret rule of the championship is that you can win by scoring ‘Small Effort Points’ at the end.”
“Small Effort Points?” C tilted their head.
“Exactly! For instance, drinking a glass of water or cracking open a window for some fresh air gets you 100 points. That’s the trick—making a comeback victory from being ‘useless.’”
C chuckled and said, “Alright, I’ll try drinking some water if it means I can win.” Then, they got up.
I clapped and cheered, “Congratulations! You’re the first-ever champion of the Useless Person Championship!”
Notes.
This story is a work of fiction and is not related to any real people or events, so please rest assured.
The content of this article was actually created based on responses gathered from multiple AI systems.
Please note that AI-generated responses are not always accurate, so for any important information, I encourage you to verify it on your own.
While I make every effort to cross-check information through books and the internet, I cannot guarantee perfection, and there may be errors. I appreciate your understanding on this point.
In particular, for medical information, please do not take this article at face value. Always consult your primary care physician or a specialist for professional advice.
Thank you for reading to the end. I hope this article proves helpful to you!
