Dear Loyal readers (All 45 of you),
I don’t know what else to do with myself in this depression but write. If I am suffering, you will, too. (Insert evil laughter.)
A long time ago, when dinosaurs roamed the earth, someone gave me a book titled something like “365 Things to be Happy About.” I don’t actually remember the specific title because I burned the book long ago. Basically, it’s a list of all the things for which to live and for which to be grateful. I flipped through it briefly to find, “The crusty skin at the top of the ketchup bottle.” WTF. How does that bring happiness? Why would I be remotely grateful for that? It’s freaking disgusting, dry-heave inducing, and infuriating. I want to kill which ever family member put it away without wiping the top clean. Now you know why I burned it. I could think of 365 reasons why not to buy that book. One of them being when I’m depressed very little brings happiness or gratefulness or hope.
This morning while sitting on the floor of the my first shower in 48 hours, (Yes, I literally sat my fat ass on the dirty, grimy, hair-covered drain shower floor. The depression and the floor are that bad.) I tried to think of reasons to stand up and fight another day. This was my list: husband, daughter, pets, family, friends, roof over my head. No. I didn’t magically pop up, put on a smile, and happily face another sunny, humid, freaking-bird-chirping Snow White kind of day. Instead, I got to my knees. Nope. Didn’t pray for strength or grace or mercy or help. You can do that for me.
Instead, I thought about my brother’s friend, who is bravely functioning and fighting depression, too, and the conversation we shared. I stood up, shut the water, and toweled off because that stranger would want me to fight. (He also would not want to see me naked. No one wants to see that.) How could I help that man and then not listen to myself? Failure, in this case, is not an option because I don’t want it to be an option for him. So, yes brother, helping him helped me.
Thank you, my brother’s friend. We are never alone. There is no shame in what your silent, secret suffering has done for me, only strength and respect.
PS: Stay tuned for today’s second entry. It’s a just plain crazy, guaranteed laugh.