Fuck Depression. Fuck It Twice. But Not Sexually. More Like, "Fuck You, Depression! You're Mean, And I Hope You Get Punched In The Groin!"

Fuck Depression. Fuck It Twice. But Not Sexually. More Like, "Fuck You, Depression! You're Mean, And I Hope You Get Punched In The Groin!"

I don't want to be this person.

This person who lives in bed. This person who weeps. This person who can't find her joy, creativity, motivation, or reason for living another day.

I don't want to be that blogger, either.

That blogger who writes about sad stuff. That blogger who dumps out all the negative feelings. That blogger who wrings out words after every slight, conflict, heartache, or mood swing.

I want to be the fun writer.

The writer who types about how her cousin uses old tube socks as menstrual pads. The writer who shares about the time the Office Depot employee offered unsolicited chin shaving tips. The writer who coaxes a giggle, snort, laugh, or guffaw.

In other words, I don't want to be depressed.

But I am.

And I have a decision to make.

I can either be that blogger --- the one who ignores her site when she's in the pits of despair. Or I can be that other blogger --- the one who talks about the disease openly.

Honestly, I prefer the former to the latter, because being open about depression is hard.

I don't want to mention it as often as I experience it, because it would be too much. So I impose quotas. I tell myself, "You can talk about depression just once this week to your friends and family. And you can blog about it once every six months. People don't want you to bring them down all the time."

But the thing is, I feel down almost all of the time. And part of being honest about depression is conveying the way it permeates every moment.

So, where's the line? How can I talk openly about depression when I'm in the muck of it without making everything about depression? How do I strike the right balance?

I don't have the answer.

So, right now, I'll just say what I know, which is this: I'm depressed today. I was depressed yesterday and the day before that and the day before that. Odds are that I'll be at least somewhat depressed tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that.

That is how I feel today. I feel like a hostage with no chance of escape.

But that will change. It always does. I'll look for the bits of joy that life delivers, and I'll cling to those good moments. And slowly, those brief glimpses of happiness will snowball until I come out on the other side. Whether it's tomorrow or next week or next month, I will get better. I always do.

Until then, I'm going to talk about my depression, because it's a part of me, and I'm choosing not to be ashamed of it.

So here I am, saying, "Hey, I feel like life is impossible right now. How about you? How are you doing?"

Maybe, just maybe, you're feeling the same way, and we can do this depression thing together, without stigma and without shame. We'll just know that we're not alone, and that will be enough for today.

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True story: Life would be super swell if we all embraced our OMG side instead of living a Facebook-friendly existence. So, let it out. Am I the only one feeling down? Do you think the holidays foster depression? Or is it the fact that we live in a world where shooters run amok while politicians do nothing? Or is it because the weather has changed and our seratonin has dipped? Whatever it is, how do YOU go about fighting the evil foe that is depression? What do you hate most about your depression? What do you want people to know about the illness? Feel free to disclose details. You're safe here.