Why I Shouldn't Be Depressed, Part 2

Why I Shouldn't Be Depressed, Part 1
Why I Shouldn't Be Depressed, Part 3

I've said before that people who have depression need other people to support them.  The problem is that depressed people don't know when or how to ask for help - or they don't have the motivation or energy to ask for help.  This is why I am so grateful my friend Charlyn offered to meet me at my psychiatrist appointment today.  She prayed for me in the waiting room beforehand, and we sat and chatted at Starbucks afterward.  It was a bright spot in an otherwise dull day, and I hope the additional meds my doctor prescribed give me a break.

I don't want to post about depression.  When I'm depressed (I told Charlyn today) I don't even want to write about it.  Even if you can convince me people want to read it, I don't want to write it.  Or I say I should be doing something more productive, and that's how I end up playing computer games for hours.  Ugh, it's terrible.

The fact is, if I were well I wouldn't want to read a blog like this.  I'm overly emotional; I don't have an accurate perspective on life; I'm anything but encouraging.  But every single time I say "no one wants to read this crap," people always step up.  They want to read my crap because they have crap too.  I'm okay with the fact that not everyone is going to enjoy reading about this dark period in my journey.  It will get better; it's just not better right now.

I've had a rough week.  A few crying spells, a ridiculous amount of fatigue and oversleeping, one day of anxiety with a panic attack, forgetting school assignments until they're past due, total loss of motivation.  Speaking of lack of motivation, Charlyn asked what I did today.  I said, "I folded half a load of laundry.  And it took me three tries."  Seriously, the dryer door is open from when I was working on it.  And my cat just climbed in.

Those are my random thoughts of the day; now on to the feature presentation:

Why I Shouldn't Be Depressed, Part 2

I want you to meet me - the real me.  The real me is awesome.

• In the mornings, I am an energetic early riser, singing songs and making breakfast and getting done as much as possible.  I send my husband off to work with a sandwich and a kiss, then do all my chores before lunch.  The real me is a doer.

• I invite people over all the time. In fact, my whole day is organized around which people to have over when.  I try to have people over while Joe's at work, so that he can have all my attention when he's home.  I emotionally invest in people.  I am such a great girl friend - a great listener and speaker of truth, and I always have tea and chocolate and snacks.  And I really love to spend time with people.  The real me is a giver.

• I make things from scratch.  I find meals that can be premade and frozen, and I deliver some to church families and use some for myself.  I research grocery prices at different stores and make sure I always get the best deal.  I buy everything secondhand because I have the time and energy to clean up, refinish, paint, and prettify used things.  The real me is resourceful.

• I get things done.  If I commit to something, I will do it.  I take pleasure in completing things.  I finish my "to do" lists.  When I was homeschooled in high school, I decided to finish the school year early.  So every morning at 6 AM I took my pile of school books, started a timer, and spent six hours nonstop.  I also read the whole Bible in a month when I was 17.  The real me is very, very disciplined.

And this is why (in my silly arguments to God) I shouldn't be depressed.  Because isn't depression for emo punk kids who spike their hair?  Or for crabby old ladies who have lived alone for too long?  Isn't it something that happens as a result of something else, like post-traumatic stress disorder or pregnancy or drug use?

I'm too young, too fun, too bubbly to have depression.  I am too hardworking, too dedicated, too disciplined.  I am smart and intelligent.  I'm generous.  I'm a pleasure to be around.  I give people energy.  I'm a blessing.  I love life too much to be depressed.

Confession:  This is just another form of Part 1.  It consists of me judging people and thinking I deserve better.  After all, why should the crabby old lady deserve depression?  Because she's older than me?  Why should the emo off-key guitar playing kid deserve depression?  Because he's not as mature as me?

Depressed people all have a "real me" hidden somewhere.  Inside the hunched shoulders and crossed arms and anxiously tapping feet, they have a confident, smiling person standing tall - a person who can realize mistakes without swimming in guilt.  A person who learns what he really wants to pursue, and then pursues it.  A person who isn't afraid to change and grow and try new things and take risks.

But depression also demotivates me to find this inner person.  It lies and says the person doesn't exist; it clouds my memory so I don't remember what "normal" feels like.  Even when I can admit I need help, the prospect of treatment is so daunting I can't pursue it on my own.