WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS LANGUAGE WHICH NOT BE SUITABLE FOR…WELL…READING ALOUD TO CHILDREN.
Depression is an evil Beast-Bitch out for my life.
A common misconception regarding depression is that the opposite of wanting to die is wanting to live. That is a dirty lie; you can’t just flip a switch and turn it on. Humans are the most selfish, prideful animals in Creation; we don’t value attaining long life in order to treasure the beauty and sanctity of the world – we want to cheat death. We want to WIN. Our survival instinct kicks in when we feel we are about to LOSE – our family, our job, our legacy; our strength, our breath, our body; too much to allow to slip away – and we FIGHT to keep it all. The silver lining, I’ve found, is that the primal desire to not lose is MUCH more accessible for me than the desire to not die.
Depression is an evil Beast-Bitch out for my life – not for the breath in my body, but for my whole existence without me in it. She wants the shell of me, like that parasitic alien race in “Invasion of the Body Snatchers”. I am faced with a choice: I can pussy-punk out into that dark night or throw every spastic left hook I’ve got until I am the bad-ass Donald Sutherland last man standing. And then swing some more, even as the fingers point and the jaws drop and the alien sirens sound.
Okay, perhaps I’ve extended that metaphor too far, and now have nowhere else to go with it.
To circle back around: tonight I suffered a miserably pleasant time watching tv with a friend for the company I knew I needed. I choked down a tasty dinner for the intake of nutrients. I donned gloves and a mask (totally necessary) to begin the journey that is decontaminating my HAZMAT kitchen. I didn’t do it because I have a particular desire for companionship, food, or a functional home – quite the contrary. I currently could care less if my kitchen rots from the refrigerator out and I starve to death alone in the bed. I do it because the only alternative is losing to the Beast-Bitch tonight. I do these things because they are the things that winners do, and I am a winner. I am human, and as we humans have demonstrated through our continued refusal to be pussy-punked down onto a lower level of the food chain, WE WIN.