And that’s when shit got real – An ode to Depression.
I had a post all written up for today entitled “Why I homeschool my kid” but then things and life and sad events and reasons happened and now I can’t post that because if I do it’ll look all retaliatory and rude and argumentative and sarcastic due to bad timing.
Which means here I am scrambling at the last minute to think of something to say which is rather funny because HAVE YOU MET ME.
Everything is a story.
So instead of that other thing I was going to say, I am going to say something else instead. I am going to tell you a story.
Once upon a time, there was a girl name Andi-Roo. Obvs. She was painfully shy and awkward and pretty much hated everything about herself and wished nobody would ever look at her. She hid behind corners and jumped out of people’s way. That went on for a number of years, until she went mad because, Guess What? Her wish came true. People stopped looking at her. So then she got angry. She waved her arms, stomped, shouted, and cursed. She said mean things about the universe. And that’s when shit got real.
The universe was very hurt by the cruel words that spilled from Andi-Roo’s mouth. For a long time the universe hid behind its cloak of stars and sunshine and moonbeams, where it spent time healing from the cuts and bruises Andi-Roo’s insults had inflicted. Eventually the universe started to feel a bit better, and over time stopped fixating over its wounds and began to wonder WHY Andi-Roo would say such horrible things. It set out on a quest to understand Andi-Roo. And that’s when shit got real.
While the universe was away, Andi-Roo had done a lot of changing. In some ways she had grown bigger, but in others she shrank. In time her mind and soul became somewhat proportional to one another, and her body echoed this transformation. Only one thing was missing: a tiny piece of her heart had gone missing when she ran away from the universe. Though Andi-Roo looked everywhere, it was simply gone. She searched frantically for many years, but as time passed, it because less necessary to her well-being. One day she realized in amazement that her heart was almost completely whole again. And that’s when shit got real.
The universe timidly approached Andi-Roo and asked if they could talk. Andi-Roo, mystified as to what the universe could possibly want to say to her, agreed, and the two scheduled some time to sit and chat. There was coffee, and cookies with vanilla frosting. They had much to discuss, and snack–time turned into dinner. There was Chinese food and Dr. Pepper. As the conversation ran on into the late evening, there was Sangria accompanied by strawberries. Finally, they finished up their exchange over butter pecan ice cream. They ate and talked and ate and talked and came to a reckoning. And that’s when shit got real.
The universe felt much wooed by this great feast of comfort foods, and settled in with a yawn. Andi-Roo, too, was worn out from their emotional exchange, and they agreed it had been one of the best days ever. Right before the universe passed out, it snapped upright with a start! “Oh!” it exclaimed. “I found something I think you might need!” And from the folds of its planet-encrusted robes, the universe pulled out a tiny crumb and placed it into Andi-Roo’s hands. And that’s when shit got real.
THIS IS RELEVANT. “Depression Part Two” by Allie Brosh of Hyperbole and a Half. READ IT.
Andi-Roo examined the small item in confusion. It looked like a seed, or maybe a kernel of corn, or perhaps the heel broken off a tiny glass slipper. It could be anything. It was distinct, yet unidentifiable. “Um, thank you?” Andi-Roo ventured. She didn’t wish to offend the universe, given their newfound respect for one another, but what she was really thinking was, “What the hell is this?” But clearly Andi-Roo had not done as well of a job at hiding her confusion as she thought, for the universe gave an endearing chuckle. And that’s when shit got real.
“My child,” the universe began, and it might have come across a bit officious or smarmy or arrogant, but Andi-Roo knew it meant “my child” in a warm and loving manner. “This is the last piece of your heart. I saw you drop it long ago, but because we were at odds, I felt unwelcome to approach you with it. So I held onto it for you, in hopes we would finally reunite.”
Shit was finally real.
There are lots of morals here, but the one I like best is this:
Shit got real.
Because you know why?
Shit is always getting real, is why! There is always going to be shit. And there is always going to be another part of the story, where shit continues.
The universe:
A pretty shitty place to live, but it’s the only game in town, so make it work, you guys.
Okay, enough analogy.
Look. It’s no secret that I have struggled with Depression most of my life. Some people see that as a failing, a character flaw, a deficiency in my potential human-ness. But I know better.
Struggling with Depression means I AM ALIVE. It means I want to live and be part of the universe, even if we don’t always see eye-to-eye on things. It might not be pretty {Pro Tip: it isn’t.} but it’s part of what makes ME beautiful. And as long as I’m still fighting, I am not only surviving, I am LIVING.
Struggling with Depression means I see the roses and smell them and they are beautiful and I love them. It means when some I love laughs, I wish I could freeze that moment because joy is so, so, so lovely. It means I want to give and contribute and share and offer and add. Having depths means likewise having heights.
Struggling with Depression means I appreciate things so much more deeply than someone who has never known the depths of despair. I’m not trying to say I’m a better person than anyone who has not experienced Depression. It’s not a contest. Duh. I just mean I’m a better person FOR and TO myself, as well as FOR and TO others, for having a point of comparison against which to measure all the good and bad in life.
Depression, ironically, makes me a better person. That may not be true of anyone else suffering this terrible condition. And it may not even be true of me on the days I’m not doing so well. But overall, I am made fuller and my heart is made more… heart-tastic.
Death makes life so much more attractive.
So listen.
The universe and I have come to terms with one another. I understand life a bit better than I used to. I let go of some things and picked up a bit of this and that. I shed my pain and gained peace. My heart has been made whole again.
I understand my place in the universe, and it is wonderful.
If you suffer Depression, know that you are not alone. Don’t listen to the asshats who say you’re being dramatic or whatever else they might be trying to shove down your throat. Sometimes people suck, man. I know. I feel you. There is always going to be THAT ONE PERSON who tries to make you feel like shit for… feeling like shit. Guess what? That person is a moron. You are strong for having struggled. You are beautiful for having this disfiguration. You are Alive for not being Dead. Maybe that sounds stupid. I don’t care. It’s true.
You are Alive.
Be Alive.
