Sometimes I make myself depressed. Nothing really bad has to happen,
but something triggers something, and I have too much time to think,
and it’s all downhill from there.
And suddenly I’m upset about other stuff completely unrelated, and
suddenly I’m hating myself again, and suddenly I’m crying, and I’m
emailing and I’m texting and I’m calling, and I’m writing in this blog.
And if I said what triggered it, it would seem stupid or shallow. It’d
be the type of thinking that if I heard it from my friends I’d try to
knock some sense into them. The type of thinking that embarrasses me,
that part of me knows is wrong but which I just can’t seem to shake.
Because in my heart I believe it. For now, for today. For when I get
myself depressed for no good reason, and later on once I’ve gotten it
out I’ll be fine, I’ll seem fine, and I’ll laugh, and I’ll joke, and
I’ll be myself- somewhat gloomy but not altogether disagreeable. Not
wallowing in self-pity and despair.
But it’s always below the surface, just waiting for a trigger. Or
sometimes for no trigger at all. And then it’ll happen, and I’ll just
depress myself again.