Depression is not sobbing and crying and giving vent, it is plain and simple reduction of feeling...People who keep stiff upper lips find that it's damn hard to smile.” - Judith Guest 
I'm bipolar. And clinically depressed. I know 'woe is me', 'boo hoo'. For some reason every time I walk through lobby of the medical building where I have my therapy appointments, I think to myself, MY GOSH- when you evaluate my life I am just so blessed.... and I still bitch and moan and complain and act like the world resolves around the fact that my ass is fat, or I don't have a nice car, or I'm a little tired, or the guy at Dunkin Donuts burnt my bagel and forgot to add sugar. THE NERVE! I find myself taking on the role of some 'double patient' -- trying to figure out what Dr. Ruth is saying to me, and then analyzing the things I am saying to her. I sit down in the lobby, and exchange quick awkward glances with the people around me. It's great - because we all pretend like this is our 'first visit' or something, do something or have a certain air like we've got it together. When that social tension rises in the waiting room.. I just wanna get up and give everyone a hug! I mean come on! Let's work together and stop pretending like we have it all figured out. Anyway- back to my alterior motives.... we begin our session with silence. I try and think up something to start with, some update that maybe could have affected my emotions since our last appointment seven days earlier. Hmmm... Well let's see, J and I got in a fight and he made me feel like we are in a one sided relationship, living at home isn't exactly working, I care too much about what my coworkers think... blah blah blah! It's all so shallow and superficial and I feel like maybe I'm just ultrasensitive. It's pretty interesting actually that whenver there is a serious crisis in my life that I should be worried about, I am the last to pity myself. But when I see someone whose facade appears to be just a little bit shinier than mine, it's the end of the world! I'm not thick headed enough to actually believe that I should care what others think, I just feel that I am more susceptible to feeling insecure or inadequate or DIFFERENT. God forbid there isn't an instruction manual for every trauma I go through! I take a giant step back and see all the wonderful things in my life. Supportive, cohesive family, abundant opportunity, food, and shelter, and heat! Yet I remember the feeling of laying in bed not wanting to ever leave, not because I am lazy or scared, but because my mind and my soul and my emotions are lodged into this giant, dark, ominous vaccum of sadness and anxiety and generally - yes - a feeling of inadequacy. 
I think my ultimate goal that I would like to see myself achieve, is to be an independant thinker from society. Not American society, or this decade's society... but I want to do things because I believe they are right and good and they are what I want to do. Such a simple concept, yet I just fall on my face and somehow I persuade myself to believe it's because my thighs aren't toned enough or the school I'm going to isn't good enough, or maybe - - if I earn lots of money I'll finally be happy and not fall again! I want to humble myself and realize all the luxuries my simple little life holds. I want to be one of those people that comes into see their therapist and TEACHES THEM SOMETHING! I want to get a clue and put it all in perspective. Yet somehow, I am still lead, tried and true, back to comparing myself to the latest airbrushed model on the cover of Cosmopolitan, or better yet- A FEATURED WEBLOG and the wittiness, or new and refreshing perspective of some of the writers out there on the internet. I am going to try everyday to match every complaint with a joyful and gracious comeback. But the cycle always starts again, and I'm back to my tiny little corner of the world, pretending like it all revolves around me - pitying myself, anxious about if I am doing the right thing in the right place with the right people.... unaware of all the pleasures life holds. I get a taste of freedom... then I choke. | 
