I am a person with chronic depression, and that's OK.

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TRIGGER WARNING: I TALK OPENLY ABOUT DEPRESSION IN THIS POST. IF YOU FIND OTHER PEOPLE'S DESCRIPTIONS OF DEPRESSION TRIGGERING, YOU WILL WANT TO LOOK AT SOMETHING ELSE.


Depression, Amirite?

Everybody has a depression blog post, right? What makes mine special? Mine’s not special.

That’s my whole point; Depression’s not special. It’s just who I am. It’s a chronic illness that no more defines me than the shape of my face or the color of my skin. (Which is to say, it's a big part of who I am, but its not what defines me. Fuck you, semantics.)

Look, I’m not fishing for a pity party or your atta-boy clap on the back. I’m here to tell you the dread monster of depression is a real thing. And that’s ok. I am not ashamed.

I don’t have a clever nickname for my depression. I don’t have a “Welsh Troll” sitting on my shoulder telling me what a terrible person I am (ala John Roderick). I don’t have a dramatic story about how I hit rock bottom that I can vlog at you with dewy tears welling in my eyes, as much as a love and support those of you who do.

The thing is, for the most part, I get by. I have a very good therapist, and I have a very good support system and an incredibly understanding wife and family. And I get really, really sad sometimes. I want to make it ok. I’ve been pretty open about my depression to those of you who know me in person, but the fact is, I haven’t written much about it. Time to change that. I blame John Moe.

So what kind of depression do I have?

I have the insidious null that crawls across your belly just as you start to feel the tug of creative inspiration. I have the tamped down nothing that flattens your affect as your brain retreats into “one more episode of Star Trek: the Next Generation.” I have the tired eyes that can’t stand to look you in the face because you’ll see what a horribly broken person I’m hiding under all this bravado. I have a non-ending chatter of mean spirited, negative self-talk about my worth. My monsters are the sad little moments of heartbreak that are built on untrue perceptions. They haunt me, kick me when I’m up, punch me when I’m down, and generally make it really hard to work my mojo.

That’s the kind of depression I have.

The thing that will surprise almost none of you is that humor, it turns out, is the thing that helps me cope most of all. And it’s a wry, unhealthy sarcastic humor. I enjoy deep dark chuckles and things that are horrible. I made this short video in one of those unhealthy sarcastic moments.

Why did you make that video?

I have a whole series of dumb videos like this one. I’m sharing this one with you because:

  1. It turns out I’m not the only one who thinks Depression is Hilarious. A lot of great comedians agree with me.
  2. The last time I went in for a medication adjustment, my labs showed that I had NO vitamin D in my system. None. None vitamin D.
  3. Depression is worse when we don’t talk about it, laugh about it, ort look across the table and tell each other that it’s ok and that tomorrow will come and we’ll deal with that then.

At the end of the day, I don't want anyone who sees this video to worry about me. I’m working through it, and I’m feeling hopeful these days-- better than I have in weeks. And I don’t really know what the future holds. But I do know that it will come to pass, and that is enough.