(just for you, you special people you)
I spent a lot of time being told and believing that I wanted to be sad. That for some reason my dramatic nature meant that I had a desire to be sad and forlorn and angry and apathetic. I was told by boyfriends (who, in their defense, put up with most by far of my outbursts) that I was creating drama for drama’s sake.
I think that is something we tell a lot of people, a lot of women especially. When you are sad or angry all the time but you don’t seem “depressed” then you are just “dramatic.” You just “enjoy” being sad. But here is the thing, that’s is completely ridiculous. No one enjoys being sad. It hurts. It takes so much energy. It makes it impossible to feel loved. I realize now, after years and years of broken hearts and emotional drainage, that I never wanted it I just couldn’t help it.
Chronic depression is a weird beast. It’s so easy to brush it off as just a sort of Eeyore syndrome. But here’s the thing, I am not just a down and out person. I am, when I can be, an insanely positive and enthusiastic person. I have been described by the words charismatic, enthusiastic, and happy more often than any other words. I get strangers telling me I light up a room on the regular. So, in some ways, I can understand why, once the doors were closed and the people were gone, my various partners would feel very cheated by the gloomy, angry, tear beast they were left with. I get it. It sucks to be with someone who seems like they are giving their all to everyone else but then has none left for you.
That’s the bitch of it. There was never much there to begin with. It’s there, oh yes that happy charismatic jokester is, I believe, who I really am. But it’s just soaked to the bone in this endless apathy and sadness. I don’t have enough energy to get myself above water for a whole day. So I give it to my coworkers, the people at the party, the strangers at Starbucks. I give it to the people that help me maintain the idea that I am a happy person at heart. And I get home and collapse. It’s awful. For everyone.
But I know that, deep down in there but not so deep she’s gone, is the endless fountain of joy and enthusiasm and ambition that I grew up believing in. I know that once I get a hold of my depression and embrace my introverted side and build a world that works for what I need I can be her again.
I promise, I don’t want to be sad. Most of the time it’s just easier than being happy.