Today I’m going to talk about something serious. Which is not to imply that my other posts are trivial, just that this one is kind of … well … blue. My life is all about little things. Not these things though; these things are pretty big. And yes, I used a semicolon. In context. Sue me.
This post is about depression. Not blog depression, although I couldn’t resist using that image up there. It was just too funny.
Now, I know most people get depressed about major things like guns and war and starving orphans and ish like that, but me, I’m with the little things. I’m upset because the doctor guy on GBS just got a patient killed. I’m upset because Romina is messing with Paloma, and Marimar started all over again. I’m upset because Audrey needs to man up and tell JR why she married David, and because I can’t tell which one of them is the good twin. They need to stop stealing each other’s girl. I mean for fuck’s sake, it’s the same damn girl!
Have I mentioned that I don’t watch soaps? They’re depressing, though I can almost forgive the show for being called Dalawa. And now there’s one with a female werewolf. Christ!
I use the world ‘depressing’ a lot. I’ve struggled with it all my life, and sometimes I cry till my insides ache, literally. Sometimes it’s triggered by the life of Paloma, so I try to ignore when my baby narrates the story scene by scene.
The standard cure for depression is to get over it. The people you love will be offended when you OD on happy pills. After all, they love you, so why would you want to die? They’ll get angry because they’re trying to help, and feel rejected. They’ll think you’re doing it for attention. Your better half will tell silly jokes to try and make you smile, then he will hold you and help you cry, because he wants to make it all go away but he can’t.
I know that I beat myself up as a learned response. I’m self-trained to aim for the sky, and my sky is constantly getting taller. So when I don’t achieve my goals, I get pissed, and when I get pissed, I get depressed. After all, it’s very un-zen-like to lose your temper.
Depression is a medical condition, and some people are more susceptible to it. It could be childhood trauma, hormonal imbalance, or both. In my case … well … I like personality tests, and every test I’ve ever done says I’m madly depressive. As a melancholic, I enjoy suffering and present myself as a martyr. As an INFJ, I overthink everything and have masochistic tendencies. As a Type 4, I imagine that I’m unique and different, and that nobody understands me. As 3CB, I’m arrogant with a big purple head. As me, I’m a little girl, upset because I have to work when all I want to do is play or read a good book.
Also, I like to make jokes when I’m upset. It makes me feel clever.
This morning, I bumped into two childhood friends who have become estate boys. They don’t seem to have jobs, and are seen at the bar/booze kiosk at odd times … like 9.00 a.m. on a Tuesday. They always seem to be partly inebriated. Both guys – separately – asked for a lunch invite, and I smiled and put them off. I don’t want them around my kid.
But then I got depressed. I live in the hood I grew up in, so it doesn’t matter that I have my own flat and my own kid. I’m seen at odd hours in pyjamas, and nobody knows what I do for a living. For all they know, I’m a poorly kept housewife still living with my dad. I haven’t bothered to explain the whole freelance gig, because they wouldn’t understand. So who am I to judge them? How are they different from me?
I plan to unteach myself depression. I plan to think positive so often that it comes to me like nature. But this sh*t is hard, and now that my body hates lactose, I can’t even drown in ice cream and Baileys *sniff sniff* My better half suggested Malibu, but I’m worried I’ll form a habit. At least a bottle of Baileys makes me sick – literally – so I think hard before starting a second one. Yes, I go through a bottle at a time. I’ve done it twice.
Sometimes, a girl just wants to stay depressed, but most times, this girl does not, so I’m working on it. Wish me luck, and next time you meet someone who’s depressed, don’t tell them to snap out of it. They just might listen, and then you’ll be really sorry.
♫ Battlefield ♫ Jordin Sparks ♫