The following post was written by one of the participants in R's Blog Share.
Blog Share is where a bunch of bloggers exchange posts to publish on their own blogs, giving the writers a chance to post anonymously in someone else's space.
See my previous post for the list of Blog Share participants.
I'll admit that I was thrilled to get to be a part of this Blog Share and was way excited to write an anonymous post…until I sat down to write it. What should I share with you? It's crazy that on my own blog I'm all about the shallow and the "hey guess what stupid thing I just did" but now that I have this reassuring cloak of anonymity on I'm feeling all of this pressure to be profound.
Why wasn't I born more profound? Why don't I leave the house more often so that I have things on which I can expound…profoundly? Where are all of my deep thoughts?
The truth is that most of my attention lately has been devoted to the douche knocker of a roommate that my fiancé and I took in. There are all sorts of problems with the guy and I have to say that if it were entirely up to me? His ass would have been kicked out weeks ago. My fiancé, on the other hand, is doing everything in his power to be the nice guy and is constantly telling me to have compassion for the guy. My fiancé is the best man I know (which is good since I'm marrying the guy).
Maybe that's my secret: Maybe I am compassionless.
Not all the time. Oh no, show me one of those David Duchovny voiced over commercials where the dogs don't understand why they can't be adopted and I'll start bawling and you'll have to wrestle the phone out of my hand because I want to adopt all of them! I've had to physically be pulled out of restaurants because I want to go in and buy a big meal for the homeless guy sitting outside and begging for change.
But show me a perfectly capable adult who won't take any responsibility for himself and all I feel is anger. Show me someone who blames his or her problems on depression and my sympathy? It gets gone real quick.
Let me be clear: Depression is very real and it is debilitating. I should know. I've had it. I know what it is like to have your bones and your muscles physically ache with anguish. I know how hard it is to get out of bed in the morning when depression takes hold. I know what it is like to feel like you are drowning and the surface of the water is just a couple of millimeters above your head but no matter how hard you swim, you can't seem to break through.
I've been there. And you know what? I got up. I went to work. I went to class. I ate my meals. I was not much fun to be around but I still functioned because I had to. Not once did I say that I couldn't do something because of my depression. And when people say that they shouldn't be held to the same standard as everyone else because they are having a hard time? Well, socially speaking… sure. It is tough to be around someone who is Deputy Downer all the time. But basic survival is not optional. When you are an adult, you get up in the morning. You do what you have to do because you are not a child.
For me, real depression is just…there. It isn't a conscious choice. It isn't an excuse. If you wake up in the morning and say "I don't feel like getting up today because my life sucks" it is one thing (especially when you get up anyway). If you wake up in the morning and hit snooze because you are so sad that bones ache and you just want five more minutes, fine. It's even okay to sleep through the alarm for a couple of hours once in a while. Nobody is perfect and once in a while depression tries to win. That said… If you wake up in the morning and say "I shouldn't have to get up today because my life sucks" and do that every. single. day but then get up and act perfectly fine when the "decision maker" (in this case my fiancé is the one who will decide once and for all when it is time to kick the guy out) is around, I have no compassion for that and do not think that I should try to find any.
Here is where my conundrum lies oh dear blog readers of…whoever's blog this thing ends up on. Does this make me a total bitch? Am I a hypocrite for having suffered depression myself but not being willing to accept it in others sometimes? Am I a terrible person because I think our roommate is a useless wanker and have gotten to a place where I would not care if he had to sleep in his car as long as it got him out of my house?