taking entirely too long…

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Sometimes, it’s really really (and I do mean REALLY) difficult to explain something to someone. It all starts with this idea in your head. It usually sounds decent and reasonable. You start to organize it so that when you explain it, you don’t sound crazy. Then you tell your friend/parent/teacher/doctor what you’re thinking. You ramble on for a bit until you realize, “This sounded so much better in my head”. Then you apologize, backtrack and come up with analogies, stories, explanations – maybe ten – but you realize that all you did was waste the last week of your life. And as your friend stares at you with that judgmental blank stare, you lamely finish with, “Well… it made sense to me…” before shamefully turning away.

Yep. You definitely sounded crazy.

It’s not always easy. Unless that person has experienced it before, he or she can’t really grasp what you’re trying to say. Of course, there are some things that are pretty easy to explain, mostly because it’s common knowledge. Your friend is not going to argue with you when you pick up and proclaim it’s an apple. An apple is an apple. The sky is the sky.

I wouldn’t say I’m bad at explaining things. I try my best to be as clear and organized as possible. But there are some things that no matter what I do, it just doesn’t get across.

Depression seems to be one of those topics. It doesn’t help that depression has such a bad reputation. A bad rep? Hold on, Pandy, whatever do you mean? Of course depression has a bad rep. It’s depression. By mere definition and nature, it’s bad. How could it EVER be otherwise?

Please allow me to explain. I don’t mean that depression is good/cool/fun/awesome. It’s not something I would ever wish upon anyone. But just the same, it has a bad reputation. It’s known for being something bad beyond it’s nature… as something people claim for attention purposes.

Back in middle and high school when “being depressed” was the cool thing to do (is that still the case now?). I remember girls announcing they were depressed. When a cat-fight started between classes or at lunch, one girl or another began screaming about how no one understood how many pills she had to take everyday. Cutting yourself was a bragging right. I didn’t really get it. These girls seemed to find being depressed something to be proud of, and so they made sure the whole world knew and wore it like a label.

I’m depressed.

Look at me.

Love me.

Pity me.

Maybe they were really depressed. I’ll never know. But the way they acted made me feel as though 99% of it was for the attention.

So naturally, I fell into that pattern of thinking. When I heard someone was depressed, there was always a part of me that thought, “You just want attention”. (I cannot be the only one who thought this!) And I, for one, definitely did not want to be labeled as an attention-seeker. I never wanted to be associated with depression.

Obviously, depression is a real issue, and not just some term people throw around for attention.

But for me, because I refused to be indirectly associated with seeking attention, I denied it for years. Depression? No way. That’s for those other people. This constant never-ending inexplicable feeling of nothingness was not depression. It was just me. It was just how I am. It was because some tough stuff was happening at the time. I was just weird. It was my nature to focus on the “bad stuff”.

Yep, I tried hard to come up with other excuses. When someone mentioned that I might possibly be depressed, I smiled benignly and nodded my head in what I hoped was agreement. Yes, of course. That’s probably what it is. In my head, I was secretly fuming. WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY ABOUT ME?

I finally came to terms with it after I got out of college. It wasn’t easy accepting the fact. Actually, I think I still haven’t accepted the fact. I still struggle with seeing myself “labeled” in such a way. It makes perfect sense and there’s nothing else it could, but I didn’t like it.

So that’s why I’m here. To get my thoughts, perceptions and observations out into the world. To put my two cents in about an issue that I struggle with. And to throw in input about other strange observations that I might come across during my oh-so-interesting life. I thought about starting a blog almost a year ago. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to, only because I didn’t know how receptive people would be to a blog regarding the insights of my particular mind.

But then I thought, “Well screw that. If they don’t want to read it, they don’t have to.” I read somewhere that writing in journal is supposed to really help. But I’m horrible at keeping a journal… I start one, I’m diligent for a day and then I never use it ever again. So I figured if maybe I tricked myself into believe I had a group of readers who actually looked forward to reading about my mind’s inner workings, I could start getting things down and out of my mind.

And who knows, maybe they’ll actually be interesting.

Ha. That’s a good one.

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