Prešernov dan

It is Tuesday afternoon, 8 February 2022, Prešeren’s Day (slo. Prešernov dan). I have already lived in Slovenia for four weeks, and it is one of the few sunny days I have had so far. I am sitting on a bench next to the University Library building, clinging to the eduroam wifi connection provided by it. It is about to get dark, as it does when you live in a country with a real winter. This is the saddest day I remember in the last few years.

Some context: I came to Slovenia as a postdoc. If you are not in academia, you can think of it as a temporary job; in my case, the contract was for a bit less than a year. I was staying in student dormitories, and even though Ljubljana is not a big city, this place is not exactly in the city centre. Slovenia has many state holidays, and as a recently arrived foreigner, I was not aware of this one. I was notified the day before that the university would be closed; those days, going to work was essentially the only thing that made me move. It was not uncommon that on weekends I would oversleep until 2 pm, walk to the closest junk-food place, and return to my bedroom. I was not able to do that on this particular day. Thankfully, I had a work meeting with two collaborators —we were working on what eventually became our paper on Cayley Extensions — and that forced me out of bed, because having the meeting over the dormitory wifi was impossible.

I walked to the city centre, looking forward to sitting in a café. Of course, I did not know that most of the cafés I knew would be closed because of the holiday. Ironically, several of the cafés I now go to are inside museums, which are free and open on Prešeren’s Day; I did not know that back then. I walked into the only coffee place I found open and the meeting started. I could not focus. After 45 minutes the waiter told me they were closing because of the holiday. I told my coworkers I would try to reconnect soon. My last attempt was to sit on that bench to see whether eduroam would work; it did not.

I sat on that bench for 15 minutes. I was in a non-existent long-distance relationship with an emotionally unavailable girl. I started texting her, hoping to find some comfort. As you might expect, I did not. In those days, our conversations consisted of her yelling at me for coming to Slovenia and telling me how hard it was to deal with being with me. She was manipulative and struggling on her own, but I do not blame her, it must have been very difficult dealing with me. I was not in control of my emotions: broken, without friends nearby, and trying to find something in someone who was not willing to give it to me. It must have been hard for her.

I returned to my bedroom just to write an apologising email to my coworkers, letting them know that I was not in my best emotional state and that I was aware I was not contributing to our paper as much as I should have. I asked them to remove my name as a coauthor. They were supportive and refused. I asked a friend for her therapist’s contact. It was the best decision I have ever made. I started therapy less than a week after that Tuesday, and very early on she reached the diagnosis: I was depressed.

Do not get me wrong. When I look back, I have had far worse times and harder reasons to be sad. Little did I know that about a year after that Tuesday my mom was going to die. That was a truly sad day. But that is exactly the point I am trying to make: being sad happens to all of us, for different reasons from one day to another. Being depressed is different. It is exhausting, consuming, and it feels as if everything were dark and grey without reason. If you are reading this, most likely you know me in person, and if you recognise yourself in the picture I draw above, please reach out for help. There is nothing wrong with you, you are just sick. It is not much different from going to the doctor when you have a fever: being depressed is like having an emotional fever.

Life is much different now. I went for a walk in my neighbourhood in Ljubljana, which happens to be a very nice one. While walking, I realised that it was Prešeren’s Day. Those four weeks in Slovenia have turned into four years. I was in therapy for almost two years, I have a slightly more stable job, and a much better relationship. I am not saying that everything is bright or that I do not have sad days, because life does not work like that. I am saying that after being depressed and getting out of it, I know that I will be fine no matter how dark a particular day feels.