Pity Party

Is there anything more annoying than someone with a near perfect life bemoaning the fact that their life is imperfect? If our response to public figures is any indication, the answer is a resounding, “No!”

I know better. I know that both situations and chemistry play a part in mental wellness. I know that, much like a cold, you can do a lot of good things and end up getting sick anyway. I can have a meaningful conversation with a friend as to why they don’t need to have a reason to be fighting the mean reds. But then it happens to me.

I have a list of reasons why I should not be sad. I can easily rhyme off a dozen of them:

  1. I have a job I love
  2. I am married to the love of my life
  3. I have medical coverage that includes massage and psychological health
  4. I have a good relationship with my parents
  5. I have a good sibling relationship
  6. I have a good relationship with my in-laws
  7. Some of my in-laws provide the best made up family (siblings, cousins, etc.)
  8. I have amazing friends who I can call up in moments of joy or sorrow
  9. My home is perfect (even excessive) for my needs
  10. I am surrounded by books I love
  11. My pet is cute and occasionally cuddly
  12. I can move freely both with my body and in my community

That was less than a minute and I can keep going, yet it doesn’t make me feel better. It makes me feel guilty. I have all this good and on a bright, sun-shiney day I want to do nothing. I want to watch the day roll by and pretend nothing exists or matters.

My depression isn’t crying in the bed. It isn’t not being able to have a conversation. It isn’t a lot of what we see in television and movies.

It’s a deep feeling of shame, of lack of self-worth, of trying extra hard to be “people.”

It’s not wanting to do anything but forcing myself to clean, because if I can fake it for five minutes at least when I’m back on the couch with my numbing agent of choice my surroundings will look pretty.

It’s filling my days with back-to-back meetings so I have a ‘reason’ for not having work done.

It’s working myself to exhaustion so I have a reason to take time off because I can’t love myself enough to take a break early. Because I don’t think I have a ‘reason’ to be depressed.

I know this will pass. I have been here before, I will be here again. I just need to be alright with the moment, the cloak that enshrouds me.

Maybe one day.

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