I honestly didn’t think that it would take me until now to write this entry. Perhaps it’s the fact that it is still so pertinent in my life; so as a result, I’m having difficulty broaching the topic of depression. Or perhaps it’s the idea that by writing this, I’m in effect broadcasting to my 500 Facebook friends, Twitter followers, and RSS subscribers that I’ve been medically labeled as depressed, pop pills on a daily basis to remedy it, and have a Good Will Hunting likeness of attending therapy twice a week.
It isn’t so much mustering up the lack of self disclosure that bothers me, but rather the fear of reaction. Depression in itself has somewhat been rendered as a casual thing. The line differentiating it from something medical and something regular seems to be marred by our normalizing of the word. Think about it: we sometimes use it as an adjective to describe our quotidian being, such as our workload being a depressing amount, or as a heavy, yet short, impact on our moods, such as “she is depressed that her boyfriend broke up with her, but she will bounce back.” So instead of gauging the possibility of there being something medically wrong, we’re frequently stuck measuring our “sadness levels” because we’re unsure when we cross the gray area of daily events and medical issues. So in a sense, I guess I’ve been afraid of how I may be perceived if I were to be more open on this topic, especially since being perceived as a melodramatic attention loving queen isn’t exactly the internet persona that I’m looking to channel.
There isn’t any way for me to spill it all out into a single entry, though that’s how I would prefer it given that’s been my approach to many things. Really, I view it as: get it over with, pile a bunch of bricks on top, and move on. So let’s take this a little slow and tease the lengthy stories from me. I just thought I would preface it for both myself and the reader. So here we go into exploring “this” in as best chronological ways as I can.