By getting up in the morning, and having breakfast, and taking a walk, and working on the novel or the play.
And when the days come that I feel like crap (and they do come. Way too often.) I get up, have breakfast, and take a walk, and work on the novel or the play. And while I do it I feel like absolute crap, and every fiber of my being tells me to just go to bed.
Sometimes it wins. Sometimes I go to bed.
But other times, when the tears are about to flow, I say, “No. You’re not going to beat me, you motherfucker.”
I literally say that. Depression is my enemy. It has fucked up my life for over thirty years. It has denied me, and hurt me, and it does not play remotely fair, because it knows me well enough to know exactly what buttons to push.
But if I can get up in the morning, and have breakfast, and take a walk, and work on the novel or the play, I. Win. And I get to tell depression to back the fuck off.
It doesn’t always work. Some days I don’t win. But some days I do, and that makes the whole thing seem… More livable.