DEPRESSION: PASSION THIEF

I have been staring at this screen for an hour. This is the second sentence I've written. Three, if you count this one. How can there be so little on the page if I've got so much on my mind? Well, the short answer is, I have let my depression get the best of me. The long answer involves multiple diagnosis, wild mood swings, panic attacks, extreme mania, conversations with therapists, cognitive behavioral therapy, lots of drugs, side effects, and all sorts of other stuff that would make you either fall asleep or call the authorities. So... I have let my depression get the best of me.

I love to write. Depression doesn't care. It makes me feel better to create. Depression doesn't care. Depression... is an asshole. What happens is this: All of your passions get pushed aside, because depression has made you think they are not worthy of your time (or you're not worthy of theirs). Sometimes you wonder "Why bother", but most of the time it's more complicated than that. When it's hard to get out of bed for long enough to use the restroom, the last thing you want to do is get up and be passionate about something. Sometimes your self-esteem gets shot in the face, so you sit around thinking you're a horrible, talentless, worthless person. No one wants to hear what you have to say, and why would they? And sometimes you're just scared; afraid of the smallest amount of success. Because you don't feel like you deserve it.

Now, even if you realize these things are not true, Depression doesn't care. It is extremely difficult to fight off this negative way of thinking. In fact, I'm not even sure that's possible. The only way to fight it is to create just to spite it.

Depression takes away a lot. Everything and everyone gets lost in the shuffle at some point. There isn't anything in this world that depressed people hate more than depression. So why not get pissed at it? Go ahead! Tell it to go eat a fish smoothie! Tie it down! Make it listen to Kid Rock! Tell it where to go and what to do while it's there, because if you don't, it will continue to ruin your life.

I stared at this page for an hour before writing this. I'm not sure how long it took to write, but that's not important. What IS important is that I was able to stare for long enough to write.