That’s what depression was like for me. I can’t speak for all of humanity, but mine was like this:
You’re sitting down, can of Monster next to you – backups in the fridge – and a brand, spanking new movie sitting in your DVD player waiting to seduce you with its pretty visuals and hunkalicious characters. Just when you’re about to begin, the doorbell rings and quality pizza arrives. Your favorite, of course – anchovies and pineapples and all. Whatever floats your boat. Add a guy next to you on the couch who’s just started straddling that fence from Favorite-Bestie to Yeah-We-Could-Make-Out-And-Be-Awesome-Together – not that I’ve had one of those, but you know how that’s every girl’s dream. So we’ll stick him next to you – totally close enough to accidentally cuddle up to in all the scenes you can fake being scared to watch.
So you’ve got it all, right? Like, it’s just perfect. Magnifique. Life is beautiful. C’est la vie.
You’ve got your pizza, soda, movie, and dream guy. But you also have a baby crying in the other room.
Johnny Depp does something outrageously hilarious. You want to laugh. But the baby’s still crying. Who can laugh over the sound of an infant in pain?
You bite into the warm deliciousness that is extra creamy tomato sauce with cheese so stringy you could turn it into a working jump rope. You pop that mess of calories into your waiting mouth… and the baby’s wailing. Sobbing. The thing’s in pain. It’s hungry. I don’t know. But it won’t shut up.
There’s a moment when you’ve done the girly thing of pretending to squeal and scoot into not-best-friend-not-boyfriend’s extended arm. He’s got you close and you look at each other. Your locking eyes are like magnets for your lips and you pull close…
But the baby’s weeping. Demanding. Crying. And who can enjoy a good snog when an infant’s in freaking pain?
That’s what Depression’s like for me. No matter how good I have it. No matter what great things happen. No matter what’s going on. The baby’s still crying in the background. And I vacillate from anger to empathetic sorrow to dull misery to outright panic.
Can someone make the baby shut up?
Except there’s no baby. Not for real. But there’s Depression. And it can’t be tuned out. Can’t let you really feel anything.
Doesn’t ever shut up.
– MY FAULT – available now for pre-order here on Amazon!!