Today I overheard a father and his teenage daughter in a little bookshop distinctively discussing about depression. He casually said, I rephrased him, “Many of these depressed people often have a lot of humour in them, they make other people happy but they are depressed” and he continues to discuss this with the owner of the bookshop wondering in questions of “Why are they so depressed but they can be so witty? Funny isn’t it?” “What kind of depression are they having?” To which his teenage daughter answered “There’s only one type of depression, Dad, it’s depression”
I wished I had enough courage to tell him and share a little bit of what it feels like to be depressed but I didn’t think it as appropriate to discuss such a heavy topic with strangers that I didn’t even say hello to.
And here I am having that question posted every 5 seconds in my mind and I have to answer it.
Humour is our armour, disguise as happiness
It is also a goal at the end of our fight with depression
I can relate to that as people would not have guessed that I have depression because I am always that bubbly, happy, joyful, girl.
Only those who knows me really well would guess but still unsure until I confirm it. I look strong and optimistic all the time. Really, it is a show that I am trying to believe in but deep inside, I crumble and my welled up tears makes my heart a sea of mud. Humour and happiness is the sun that dries the surface of my sea of mud, until the surface cracks, no one would know that beneath this solid surface is a sea of mud.