Overheard Conversations

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.

Therapy: 2

Yesterday was my second session with my psychologist. Therapy is really exhausting and it needs a lot of determination. Every time I feel a little better I think to myself that I don’t need therapy because ‘Hey! Look, today I am able to handle this. I can hold myself together.’, then the next moment I feel like I am eaten by a whirlpool and is dragged to the bottom of the sea. Actually, sometimes I don’t even feel anymore. I am transforming to an inanimate living thing. I don’t know which is worse, to feel so extremely or to not feel at all. Incapability is paralyzing.

I am more receptive to this second session despite still feeling very intense at the session. I broke a rule of not getting a drink and or a cigar. I did both after my session. I had two drinks and three cigarillos. I shouldn’t but I shudder.

In yesterday’s session she reminded me on how much of a fighter I am. Despite all the shit that skipped the fan and hit me straight, I am still fighting. It is a painful fight. I feel so weak because I ended up in therapy, in that room, discussing on how to think. I feel a little insulted to have to have someone teach me to think that costs me 250 dollars per hour. I feel weak because I can’t even handle myself. I don’t know how to be happy. I need someone to tweak me so that I can be happy. Seriously, why the fuck? Why the hell? Why?

We decided to record my thoughts so that we can analyze my thoughts. But I have done that all these years, changing my thoughts, thinking in a positive manner, yet I ended up being bruised, hurt, and now I have drained almost all of my soul. Will this work? I am being skeptical. I am torn.

We will need me to plan my schedule daily. To slot in things that I used to enjoy to try and bring me back to being me. I didn’t know that I have to relearn to be myself. This is beginning to sound so ridiculous.

The hardest lesson in life is learning to be yourself again,¬†you can’t walk away from yourself because you are always present despite being a stranger to yourself

How did I end up being like this? Maybe I have always been like this. Maybe it is normal. Maybe it is abnormal. I don’t know.

I need to befriend myself, to be gentle to myself, to acknowledge myself.

How can I be a stranger to myself when I enjoy spending time with myself, when being alone is so comfortable. It is called isolation. I am suppose to break that. I am suppose to overcome that.

My therapist told me that I need to get myself to start doing things I enjoy and slot them into my daily life that I need to relearn to be myself, I need to give myself time to do so and I cannot expect myself to be perfect at it. I have to follow my schedule despite my emotions, I cannot give in to my emotions but at the same time if I am not doing well I need to be gentle to myself because I am relearning. I feel like I am being disciplined, life feels like a drill now.

This is a mental militant. And it is no where near fun or comfortable.

Who would have thought that you need to learn to be yourself all over again? And who would have thought how tough it is? Certainly not me.