I keep telling myself only highly creative, intelligent people ever get truly depressed. The great Leonardo da Vinci said, "The greater the sensibility, the greater the suffering... much suffering. Must be true!
I mean, what do dumb people have to be depressed about?
I picture a fake-baked bimbo with an enormous cup size and a wide-eyed look of perpetual confusion... She finds choosing nail polish a perplexing decision. OOOOOO Pink Princess Perfection? Or Lovely Lavender Lady? It's a toughy... She is in no danger of depression.
I picture a jolly fat man with a twinkie in his left hand and a TV remote in his right laughing at re-runs of the Simpsons... His main concern is that his recliner not have TOO many Lays Potato Chip crumbs. He most likely will not suffer the darkness of depression. (Homer Simpson IS quite thought provoking, don't you think? Doh!)
I fell off the face of the planet. I've been depressed before but this time I completely dissappeared for months.
You know that moronic commercial that says, "Depression Hurts"? It features people of all walks of life with pathetic faces dressed in drab colors. I always thought the commercial was stupid... until now. Now I know. Depression doesn't just hurt. Depression is an achey, slow burn that consumes it's victim. Depression leaves no semblence of the individual who once was.
One of my best friends said to me, "You've been lost to me for months!"
There were certainly factors that contributed to my deep saddness. I won't tell you what they were because it's nobody's damn business. I WILL tell you that questioning everything you ever thought was true will spin you like a top. At one point I actually thought, "Maybe the whole story about astronauts flying to the moon is a lie. Maybe the world is flat. Maybe nobody really loves me." The last one is kind of embarrassing to admit. But I thought it. A LOT. Nothing made sense anymore.
Depression is really, really real. For reals. It's an enormous monster that sits on your chest and smothers you down. Down. Down. Down.
I slept constantly. I would awake feeling exhausted and brain dead. I could stare at a blank wall for an hour without blinking. I couldn't think. I could only feel the pain in every cell of my body. I didn't cook. I didn't clean. I couldn't read. I didn't shop. Wouldn't eat. I cried constantly. It was just sleeping and staring and crying. I stunk. It was that lay-in-the-bed-all-day-wallowing-in-my-own-filth stink. GROSS. I wore only black or gray. My family suffered.
I used to think depression was selfish. I have good friends that have suffered from major bouts of depression. I never judged them but I silently wondered if maybe they would just get out of bed and go for a jog they would feel better. There were moments when the thought of lifting my head up brought tears to my eyes.
I know this post is a huge bummer. I will be sure to post something hysterically funny tomorrow to make up for this assult. I just thought I'd spread the word that depression is a real thing. So don't be all judgey-judgerson if someone you know picks up their kids from school with the same bedhead and B.O. from the day before. Maybe offer to help out? Do a good deed. I know I could have used all the help I could get and very few people stepped forward.
Today I feel FABULOUS! I have recovered. Guess what I'm wearing? (I'm not trying to be sexy here...) I'm wearing a flowy white skirt that goes swoosh woosh swoosh when I walk and a bright teal V-neck top that fits just right. I have on lots of great jewelry and I can't help laughing to myself about the enormous woman to my left holding a tiny chiuahua. Whoever said pets begin to look like their owners and vice versa has never met this pair. I am at the public library because that's where the homeless people go to use the Internet.
That's all I have to say about that... Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get. I'm just sayin'...
