Many of you have probably seen the anti-depressant
commercials with the hovering cloud or the bouncing blue ball. It refers to depression as this thing that follows you around and makes
you feel sad and worthless. Really, it’s
not that far from the truth. JK
Rowling’s metaphor for depression was a dementor: creatures invisible to
muggles that made the world cold, sucked the happiness from the world, had the
potential to kiss your soul away, and the only thing that helped after an
encounter was chocolate. (I also think
vodka would easily do the trick, but that’s just my opinion.)
I had a conversation with my therapist today about the
personification of depression: how it becomes something outside of yourself yet
a part of yourself. This thing hovers
right above your brain shouting insults, reminding you of your fears, and
proclaiming as loud as possible that, your dreams? Hah! You wish. Dreams are for the beautiful ones, the
already successful ones, the sickeningly charming ones the depressed people
want to punch.
This thing is not
you, but not not you (hah! I knew I’d
get that in in one of these blogs; thanks grad school, everything is academic
now). It is this alternate conscious
that is fucking with your identity. It
literally tells you that your identity is stupid. My therapist is convinced that when people
attempt or succeed in suicide, it is this alternate conscious, this “thing”
that they are trying to kill, not actually themselves; not the self that thinks
of a future and shapes an identity.
I think this thing loves to taunt the possibility of
suicide. She’s dark, taunting, cruel,
and is generally asking you to punch her in the face most of the time. I decided to “invite her over for an
interview,” so that you all could meet her on some level. I’ve decided to name her “Swamp Thing” for
the interview. I think she’ll get a kick
out of it.
Me: Good afternoon.
ST: What’s my
name again for this thing?
Me: Swamp Thing.
ST:
Original. Nobody thinks that’s funny.
You don’t even think that’s funny.
Me: Yes I do.
ST: You wish you
thought it was funny. You basically wish
you were funny. Anyway, nobody’s going to think this is funny
because nobody reads this stupid thing.
What’s the fucking point in doing this anyway?
Me: Well, I think it’s
a good exercise to personify you in a performatively written script.
ST: Oh here you
go, going all academic again. Do you
think this is going to make you look smart?
It doesn’t. It just makes you
look pretentious and annoying.
Me: Well, academics are often pretentious and
annoying. Anyway, I’m supposed to be
interviewing you. You’re distracting
me.
ST: That’s my
job, idiot.
Me: Yeah, well. Whatever.
Okay. First question.
ST: Oh God, here
we go.
Me: Stop it. First question. What exactly do you do? You alluded to “your
job” a second ago. What is that?
ST: It’s not a
“job.” Jobs are for real
identities. I come out of chaos. I just find joy in making your life a living
hell, alright? And I can’t help it. It’s
just so easy. Find out your fears, remind you of them all
the time, find your hopes for the future and smash them a bit, make you tired,
and the rest of it is easy. I just argue
with you and make you feel worthless and eventually you crawl into your little
blanket cave! Hilarious.
Me: Wonderful
you find that so funny. And I don’t have
a blanket cave.
ST: You do, you
watch that stupid alien show in it.
Me: Doctor Who. It’s
not stupid.
ST: Yeah
whatever. You and your annoying little
obsessions.
Me: It’s my obsessions
with things that keep me alive.
ST: I know,
that’s why they’re annoying. It seems to
be the one thing I can’t touch. You’re
still interested in stuff and I hate it.
Me: Okay, so second question. It seems like you make me lose interest in
stuff that I used to love. Why is that
important when you are already instilling feelings of worthlessness and
hopelessness?
ST: Why?
Hah. Stupid question.
Me: So
you’re not going to answer it?
ST: It’s a stupid
question!
Me: Well, okay, so I
asked you a stupid question.
ST: I don’t like answering stupid questions, I
just like to make you feel stupid.
Me: Fine. Okay- how about this one. Why me?
ST: Why not you?
Me: Because! I have a
life!
ST: And how is
your life more important than anyone else’s.
It’s not. In fact, at this point, I’d argue it’s less. Hey! I have an idea! Why don’t you go kill
yourself! That sounds like so much fun!!!
Me: That was uncalled
for.
ST: You thought
it.
Me: No, you did. You are separate from me.
ST: Sortof.
Me: Fuck you. Next question.
ST: Nope. You just said fuck you. I’m not answering you anymore.
Me: What are you a toddler now?
ST: …..
Me: UGH. You are such a petulant child.
ST: That means
you’re a petulant child. I’m you! Hah.
Anything you say, sticks to me, but also sticks to you! Hah! If you hate me you
hate yourself. Boom! I win.
Me: Wait. So…if you
win, do I win?
ST: …..
Me: HAH Got you.
ST: You’re still
fat.
Me: Oh God, here we
go.
ST: AND you
haven’t finished your thesis yet and you’re behind on grading and your friends
hate you and your grandma’s dead and you don’t have a boyfriend and you are
poor and you are short and you have terrible eyesight
Me: Terrible eyesight?
Is that the point we’re at now? Making
fun of my fucking glasses?
ST: THEY ARE UGLY
YOU LOOK LIKE A FAT LIBRARIAN
Me: I like
librarians.
ST: No you don’t!
You’re just trying to shut me up! Nanananana!
Me: Okay. Interview
done. I can’t take it anymore.
*********************************************************************************
So there’s Swamp Thing.
My personal little depression cloud.
She’s actually pretty tame today compared to what she can be.
I try to poke fun at depression when I can. Honestly, the way depression works is
ridiculous. Sometimes it really is like
yelling at yourself for being a pathetic eye-glasses wearer. And then you cry about it. And then you eat a bag of chips, and yell at
yourself for eating them. Then you
sleep, wake up abruptly, because depression decided you’re pathetic for
sleeping. It really is absolutely
ridiculous. Sometimes the only thing you
can do is laugh at it.
Swamp Thing is yelling at me again. Here’s to hoping her visit will end
soon.
