Should I sound so excited about this? Maybe not. Okay, let’s try again. Rewind.
How Depression, Like a Thief in the Night, has been Ruining My Life!
Oh Woe Is Me!
That’s better. Appropriate angst and melodrama, which are staples of this blog which must not be forgotten. Ever. So, throw away whatever preconceptions you have. Instead, think of a dark and stormy night. The wind, howling. The rain, pounding. But within my basement apartment, the sounds of the storm are muted. Instead, the most dramatic, angsty music plays as I sit in a corner of my dark closet, the bedroom itself lit only by the light of a single candle. I am appropriately bemoaning my fate. Got it? Good.
So, with the setting appropriately made, let’s tell the story.
I was diagnosed with depression yesterday! SCORE!
Okay, that sounds wrong. Depression really isn’t a good thing to have. It freaking sucks. But, on the other hand, know what this means? I don’t have to keep wondering what’s wrong with me! I know. That, in itself, is a huge achievement. (And I think the attempts at humor are just a placebo from the Prozac).
So, now, when I’m hiding in my closet, listening to depressing music, wearing all black, forcing my cat to cuddle with me, with a hood pulled over my head and writing the most dramatic poetry I can think of (in the dark, too. That takes talent, let me tell you!), I at least know the reason. And now I have a convenient label with which I can get away with everything! “Oh, I’m sorry I hit you. I can’t help it. I have depression!” or “I have depression! I’ll yell at you if I want to! I’ll skip work if I want to! STOP JUDGING ME! YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND ME!” And of course, this will not involve self-harm. That’s too mainstream. I’ll eat ice cream, thank you very much. Oh, it’s probably a kind you’ve never heard of. Chunky Monkey for life! Because YOLO.
Yes. In my heavy-handed attempts to be at least somewhat amusing, I did just descend into such depths of horror, and am properly ashamed. I’m not sure I can ever forgive myself for that. I will hang my head in shame, now. Forgive me while I retreat to my corner of angst. Or maybe someone else’s closet, where I can stay long enough to start growing mushrooms. Yeah. That sounds like a good plan.
Excuse me. I need to go cultivate some fungus, and find some meaning in my life.