Why are you writing this?
I have depression.
No, seriously, stop it.
I have a mental illness.
What are you doing? Don't you know that people are going to stop taking you seriously the moment you push Submit?
(right, because they haven't already.)
Yeah, it's not like you have anything worth saying anyway.
I'm sure you've noticed how I've barely touched this blog for the past couple of weeks. I'm sorry for that.
All two of your readers have noticed, I'm sure.
My depression's been particularly bad lately. I've pretty much stopped caring about everything because I can't even fucking build up the effort. And I mean everything.
I've been eating terribly, I've been neglecting even the basics of ordinary living. All I've done all day is play games, talk on IRC, go to school (and I've barely even done that right, missing two classes and being horribly late for a third), and sleep.
I can't build up the effort to care about what's going on in the world.
Because who cares, it's all the same old bullshit, money rules the world, it's not like you're making any difference.
And it's not like there's been a dearth of news lately. Hi there CISPA. Oh, Trayvon finally got justice. Oh, CeCe isn't likely to. Same old, same old, this is about real fucking people with real fucking lives but my depression isn't letting me care and now I feel like a total asshole, or worse, a Republican.
These are real people with real lives and you're just sitting here whining. You're useless. No, you're worse than useless.
And it's not even a failure to think of topics other than current news. I've wanted to write about the war on drugs, about how privilege hurts the privileged, about the moral obligation to fact-check, about abortion, about this thing, about that thing, let's link to this somehow, let's link to that, oh that's even one of the most beautiful things I've ever read but let's not even bother because there's no fucking point.
This is what depression does, and when I hear people tell me it's not real or that I'm just making an excuse I want to fucking scream.
Oops, except that I can't hear them say it because I'm completely isolated from everyone just on the mere thought that they might.
The people whose ideas I hold in contempt don't need to silence me, because that side of my brain doesn't seem to need their help.
And meanwhile it's telling me that there's no point to getting help, which I've finally taken steps to do after YEARS of this torture.
*deep breaths, deep breaths*
Okay, this might be a little less polished than my usual, but I have to say SOMETHING, and I'm too scared to proofread, because I'm really really afraid that I'll just delete this whole thing.
So here you go. "Enjoy."