Saturday, August 29, 2015

I Saw A Movie Last Night or, On Depression

I don't think the pills are working. Not as well as they were late last year, when I decided to embark on a socially acceptable clinical drug dependency in the hopes that I could finally wake up without an overwhelming sense of fear and a cripplingly sad cloud following me around like some sad sack of poo follows the Kardashians on Twitter.

I've been in the depression game long enough to know the difference between boredom, depression, and being legitimately sad over something. Lately I've been feeling the middle option, as life is far too exciting and fulfilling right now for me to be anything else. I've got a BOOK RELEASE PARTY coming up, a very humble but nevertheless still noteworthy number of positive reviews, a good job, a good apartment, the best girlfriend potatoes can buy, but still, I feel down. I feel alone. And I feel afraid.

At times like this, I find the best measure of dealing with it is to escape for a little while. I was alone at home, the hippy off doing hippy belly dance things, and feeling about as low as Hannibal's ratings on NBC (which is hands down the biggest crime against art to recent memory). So I decided to get off my ass and take myself out on a date.

The movie was The End of the Tour, and it was a pleasant movie. I've never read anything by David Foster Wallace, but I have always found him to be interesting. There was something so awkward and beautifully strange about him in his interviews that I found to be charming. I thought Jason Segel did a wonderful job, and I hope he does more serious work in the future. Even if Bret Easton Ellis disagrees.

The movie started out with Lex Luther getting a phone call about Wallace's death, which thankfully they did not show. I can't handle suicide in movies, television, or anything really. It hits me like rape joke. It's ugly and vicious and I can't stand it.

Even though I never met Wallace, watching the movie, I was once again reminded of how not alone I really am when it comes to depression. When I hear of suicides, I often wish I could pull them back and hold them and remind them that they didn't have to go that route and it's okay.

The most recent example is Conrad Roy III, the young man who was suffering from suicidal thoughts that his girlfriend encouraged. Let me just say that one more time. She fucking encouraged him. And he did it. One article I read posted some of the conversation and it's hands down the most disgusting thing I've read. You can search for it if you wish.

So what am I getting at? If you or someone you know are suffering from depression, please, please, please know that you're not alone and there are a fuck ton of us out there who know exactly what you're going through. It's an alienating sickness, but it's not isolated. And do not for one second think that you can send me a message and I won't listen.

If you're struggling with suicidal thoughts, give this number a call: 1-800-273-TALK 

Trust me, you can do worse in life than to give seeking a help a shot.

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