No one really welcomes
you back or asks why you've been gone so long. But here I am, a
functioning member of the human race. Working. Helping
people. Going to meetings and trainings and all that crap that makes one
feel, "Ooh, I'm a professional." It's true. Just tell
someone, "I have to go to a meeting" and you will instantly feel smug
and important.
-Professional- now
there's something I haven't felt like in a long time...I just don't think
there's anything like having a Master's degree and working temp jobs (or retail
or sales) to make a person feel sh*tty about themselves. You can tell
someone till you're both blue in the face that happiness comes from the INside,
and that you mustn't let external circumstances affect the way you feel about
yourself. Well, go ahead and test the theory. Demean yourself to
work at a crappy junk-pay job and try to think only positive things about
your life and your future. Try being just as proud to tell people where
you work, and remember not to worry about what other people think. Isn't
that kind of a ridiculous expectation, anyway? If you're really so
insulated from the opinions of others, you might be a sociopath. But I
digress.
The point is, it was a
long time coming. 4 years + 4 months, to be precise. So if you were
to ask what depression has cost me, it would have to be all that time.
All the wasted time. Time in which I just couldn't get it together.
And yes, I get up by my alarm and I exercise and I do my hair and I brush my
teeth and I go to work and I don't call in; things I haven't managed to do
in all this time. Or maybe some of those things in one day but
not all of them every day. I don't know how it became so hard or why it
did, or even why it's not as hard now. Which brings me to the conundrum
of explanations.
I have a chunk of my
life I can't really explain. If I could think of a great
little [err...BIG] lie that would tie it all up in a nice pretty bow,
that would just be really effing awesome. But people ask
random questions I'm not prepared for, and I suck at spontaneous
answers. I don't want to tell people about a past I wish didn't
exist, or about friends that I USED to have, or relationships I used to be
in. And since I didn't just materialize out of thin air, people want to
know stuff about me. I'm sick of lying; I hate it. It traps me in
my past, feeling sucky about myself, because I don't even have a story to
tell to cover up this mess. For it to be "NEAT" it would have
to be a great big whopper that explains all the contingencies. So I tell
little lies that keep me as close to the truth as possible, and avoid getting
into any details.
I think I'm just angry
that, even when I overcome it, I don't really. It's a stain on my life
that won't wash out. I've tried OxyClean and everything.
"The truth may
hurt for a little while, but a lie hurts forever."
Oh, what a tangled web
we weave.
