Confession – the Morning After

Here is a brief primer on how to deal with depressed people who vomit their depression all over you, much like I did last night.

First, I should clarify that I’m speaking primarily for myself — no one elected me spokeswoman for all depressed people everywhere, and thank dog, am I right? Who wants that responsibility?

What has two thumbs and doesn’t want that responsibility?

So… things you need to understand. I don’t need you to fix me. I mean, I’d love it if you could, but you can’t, because I’m not even sure what that would look like — like I said, I’m so far gone that objectivity has been defenestrated long ago, and I can’t even remember whatΒ better would look like.

I don’t want your pity, and I’m not just looking for attention. And I understand that what I do need requires effort on your part, and taking that first step is a conscious effort.

But I’m not going to make it, because I’m having a hard time lifting my head off my pillow, let alone making an effort to engage in conversation or activity.

I realize that I’m not exactly Miss Cheery Happy, and therefore, kind of a buzz kill. But the truth is, somewhere deep inside me, behind this veneer of self-loathing and defeat, is a snarky, funny, intelligent, deliriously mad and extraordinarily interesting human being. Unfortunately, you’d never know that by looking at or talking to me right now.

So what I need — what I really need — is to get through this. I need you, whoever you are, to draw that out of me.

I don’t want to talk about my depression. I’m not looking for a shoulder to cry on, or counselling, and I don’t want to sit around feeling sorry for myself.

I want to laugh. I want to sing. But I right now I don’t want any of those things — not really.

Don’t tell me that life is worth living — show me.

I don’t need to hear that you care about me, or that you’re thinking of me — the problem with depression is that the depressed person projects the message that they just want to be left alone, and so that’s what people do — they give the person their space, let them know they care, and then the person goes back to being a leper, hiding in their cave.

If you want to help me through this, treat me like a human being. Tell me the worst joke you know — I love groaners — the less funny they are, the funnier I find them. Engage me in conversation about something you love to talk about — something you’re excited about. Don’t let me mope; don’t let me stew on this.

I have pushed people away, I have isolated myself, because I’m full of shame and self-loathing — mea culpa.

But though you may not understand or believe it, I am so lonely.

I shouldn’t be, but there it is. Part Two of my Confession — I am lonely, even in a room full of people.

So, talk to me. But be warned, any comments expressing sympathy or pity or giving advice about how to deal with depression will be immediately deleted.

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80 responses to “Confession – the Morning After

  1. ‘Tell me the worst joke you know β€” I love groaners β€” the less funny they are, the funnier I find them’ <- Love this. Love the whole thing. Well said er written. πŸ™‚

  2. There was once this young boy who wanted to become a writer. As he grew up he would always tell everyone that he would become a writer.

    When his elders (parents, relatives) asked him what he wanted to write, he replied that he wanted to write something that everyone would read. This should move the people who read his work; they should cry and become angry. They should jump out in emotion at his words. ….

    And today, what does this boy do today? Well, he works for Microsoft, writing their error messages!

    • Groan. Well, he certainly moves people to violent emotions.
      Q: How do you catch a blue rabbit?
      A: With a blue trap
      Q: How do you catch a red rabbit?
      A: With a red trap?
      Q: Nope, you squeeze him ’til he turns blue, then catch him with a blue trap.

  3. My dear H- by way of distraction, I pass on this joke that arrived in my inbox this morning.

    The local news station was interviewing an 80-year-old lady because she had just gotten married for the fourth time. The interviewer asked her questions about her life, about what it felt like to be marrying again at 80, and then about her new husband’s occupation. “He’s a funeral director,” she answered.

    “Interesting,” the newsman thought.

    He then asked her if she wouldn’t mind telling him a little about her first three husbands and what they did for a living. She paused for a few moments, needing time to reflect on all those years. After a short time, a smile came to her face and she answered proudly, explaining that she had first married a banker when she was in her 20’s, then a circus ringmaster when in her 40’s, and a preacher when in her 60’s, and now – in her 80’s – a funeral director.

    The interviewer looked at her, quite astonished, and asked why she had married four men with such diverse careers.

    (Wait for it, although you’re probably ahead of me)

    She smiled and explained,

    “I married one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready, and four to go.”

    I laughed at the sheer daftness of it, hope you do too. Laugh long and loud, take care of you

    x

  4. Here is the worst joke ever. My office colleague loves it so much he told it at his own wedding!
    Imagine, if you will, my office colleague holding up a bottle of non-sparkling mineral water.
    “Yesterday this was water. Today it’s still water!”
    Ha ha πŸ™‚

  5. Q: Whaddya call cheese that’s not yours?
    A: NACHO CHEESE! (works best if you head-pop at the same time)

    Kudos for ‘defenestrated’ LOVE that πŸ˜€

  6. You don’t want me to unleash the Bad-joke Selena, trust me on this one. But here’s one that always disgusts me to my core. It’s called:”The Leper in the Restaurant” (and pardons if you heard it already!)
    So, a man comes into a restaurant and the waiter informs him it is too crowded and the only seat remaining is next to a leper, and asks the man if it is going to be a problem.
    “Not at all!”, the man says, and he gets seated. He recieves his order and starts eating. The leper’s finger falls off and the man pukes.
    The waiter rushes to him and helps him clean himself and brings him another dish.
    Same thing happens, twice more, and the third time the waiter groans out:”I thought you said the leper is not going to be a problem!”
    and the man responds with:” I don’t mind him, just the man sitting behind him that keeps dipping bread into his back…”

  7. Okay, so if we’re going for un-PC, I always loved this one (it’s a bit long, and funnier in person)

    So there’s these two fleas, who always meet in Florida on holiday. The first little flea arrives, unpacks and sets up by the pool with a cocktail, when the second little flea turns up absolutely FREEZING cold and shivering. He asks what happened, and the second flea tells him “It’s because I got here in the mustache of some guy on a motorbike, zooming down the freeway and it was SO COLD!”

    So the first flea takes pity, and beckons the second little flea over, puts his arm around him and says “Buddy, I’m gonna revolutionise your travel, Go to an airport and hang around until you see a beautiful air hostess. Climb up her leg, into her panties and settle into her warm, soft…*you know* what I’m saying…then you go to sleep and wake up in Florida!”

    “BRILLIANT!” says the second flea, and he agrees to try that the next year.

    A year later, the first flea rocks up in Florida, unpacks, grabs a drink and waits, and then the second flea turns up *absolutely* perishing cold.

    “What happened?!” he asked “Didn’t you do what I said?”

    “Um, YEAH!” said the second flea; “I went to the airport, found a gorrrrgeous brunette, climbed up her leg, settled into her panties and drifted off into the most wonderful, warm sleep, ready to arrive in Florida…and the next thing I know, I wake up in the mustache of some guy on a motorbike, zooming down the freeway.”

    • Saw where it was going, but still fantastic.

      I’m not going to break out my Essex girl jokes. Mainly because I’m far more enlightened than that.

      What’s the difference between a pub and a clitoris?
      Most men can find a pub.

      • *snorks*

        I have a good one about frogs in a lake, blowing bubbles, but I guess you’d figure that out, too πŸ˜€

        Why do communists drink Earl Grey?

        Because proper tea is theft…

      • (nope – just good at remembering jokes :D)

        How many Freudian psychodnynamic psychotherapists does it take to change a penis?

        (I thought your cannibal/MIL one was good πŸ™‚ )

      • Good! I just made that one up. Or borrowed it from a recess of the mind, but I like it anyway πŸ™‚

        How many creationists does it take to change a lightbulb?
        None – they prefer the dark.

        (going shopping now, but this has been FUN! πŸ˜€ Will check back later for more jokes from others. That leper one… *cringe*)

  8. Helena, I do not have any jokes handy, but I do love to fawn over lovely talented witty writers. Though I do not truly know whether you are lovely, for all I know you are a brutish lumberjack, I am practically in love with the illustrations of your alter egos. Is the artist also a tightly held secret?

    • Ah, do you mean my avatar or the pictures that link to my author pages? They’re done by Dana Thomas — a fellow blogger that I haven’t spoken to in far too long — she’s having some personal issues of her own that keep her away. The avatar is done by Ros Webb, the same artist who did the cover for my book.

  9. I’m back with more awful/pathetic jokes.

    What’s the last thing that goes through a bug’s mind as it hits the windshield?
    *
    *
    *
    *
    *
    *
    *
    Its butt.

    What do you call a man with no arms and no legs lying in a ditch?
    *
    *
    *
    *
    Phil.

    What do you call a man with no arms and no legs in the ocean?
    *
    *
    *
    *
    Bob.

    What do you call a man with no arms and no legs hanging on the wall?
    *
    *
    *
    *
    Art.

  10. Q: What do you call a blind Buck?
    A: No idea.
    Q: What do you call a blind Buck with no legs?
    A: Still no idea.
    Q: What do you call a blind Buck with no legs and no dick?
    A: Still no fucking idea.

  11. I am clearly severely joke challenged as I haven’t heard any of these, and in fact the only one I could remember was the lame cannibal one I told up there.

    However, I did copy and paste that leper soup joke from Oloriel. I’ll have to try that out next time I’m with a large group at Outback Steakhouse. πŸ˜›

  12. Oh my…doesn’t sound like a nice affair- vomiting depression. Such graphic representations. lovely

  13. Reblogged this on Being the Memoirs of Helena Hann-Basquiat, Dilettante and commented:

    So, it’s Throwback Thursday, and I’m too exhausted to write what’s really on my heart, but this is a close approximation. Thank you to you all — Everyone who reached out last night and this morning. Here’s a reminder of what mental illness looks like. I’d like to think I’m a lovable human being. Sometimes the cost of my madness is, well — madness.

  14. Depression….
    How to avoid the funk…?
    It may be selfish but, this is what I do:
    Think of others that are worse off than you, and be glad that you don’t have it that bad.
    How did or do I control my depression and addictions?
    I got tired of it.
    It was taking up all of my time.
    So, I changed things.
    People, surroundings, job etc.,
    It will be hard, it will take a bit.
    Our hole was dug deep and wide to prevent escape or rescue.
    Bottom line?
    Get your head out of your ass, take control of things, change things…
    Get mad!
    Give yourself some tough love. Be honest with yourself for once.
    Like my dad always said “When you die the mortician only stuffs one ass full of cotton”
    You save you….
    Good luck

  15. Hey! You know I like you, so so much because you are one of the 3 people (I know) on the internet who aren’t begging for pity (or blog views) for their depressed state of mind. And that’s exactly why you will be all ‘better’, some day. πŸ™‚

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