OK, I think I've let the dust settle long enough from the last post. Tonight, I thought I would go in a different direction; these political posts are getting fucking stale, and that isn't the purpose I originally set for this thing. I've also caught some flack for the 'confrontational' nature of this blog which, to me, is a sign of success. If people hate my writing enough to yell at me for it, I have done my job. And, a reminder; if the word 'fuck' offends you... surf on, Kemosabe...
I wanted to take the time to discuss my views on depression. It's become almost a politica
l topic nowadays, and drugs to combat depression are advertised every-fucking-place... almost as much as beer, which USED to serve as the only anti-depressant people needed! Talking about depression in public is almost as bad as discussion religion... people have their views on handling it, and FUCK YOU if you think different.
Everybody gets depressed once in awhile... Most people get depressed quite frequently. (I have been depression free for about... 38 minutes now! Thank you, thank you, please hold your applause until the end.) Does this mean that there is some imbalance in their chemical makeup, causing them to wear black clothes and listen to Suicidal Tendencies? No, it means that every day isn't fucking peas-and-carrots like these fucking do-gooder motivational speakers want it to be. Being alive sucks pretty god damn hard most of the time... but, it sure beats the shit out of being dead!
Now,
I'm no Dr. Phil, here to tell you to "Get real" and just get over it. Being depressed is some serious shit that everyone deals with, and you need to look into it and find the source. Any emotion has a trigger; you don't perceive anything without an object of your perception... Seeing the sun set triggers happiness in me. Watching my son climb a fence causes anxiety in me, for fear that he will fall. The thought about the amount of work I will have to complete tomorrow can cause anxiety, or even despair. Reminiscing about past relationships can cause all sorts of emotions. Depression follows the same rules. Is your depression caused by a sense of failure over your accomplishments, or lack thereof? Or is it caused by the loss of a loved one? Unrequited feelings for another? Unfulfilled expectations?
What O-fends me is the band-wagon of American culture towards chemical solutions
to depression. I'm not going to get into the Health care speech again, I've done enough of that... but, it seems to me that the pharmacists just weren't selling enough pills, so they came up with a plan. "Hmm," thought Bob, the pharmacist. "What do people need today? Already got a head full of hair and an enormous penis! How about we convince people that 'depression' is a medical problem, and start selling pills to fight it?" (As if giant dick pills weren't enough to combat depression!) Now, you've got shit like Celexa and Prozac flying off the shelves like Tickle-me Elmo, and people are not 'fixing' their problems, just 'setting them aside'.
Before so
me asshole gets on here and yells at me like "You don't know what it's like!" let me spit my depression cred... My grandfather killed himself when I was 1. My dad has been admitted into institutions. My step dad hung himself in my mom's basement, where she found him. I've already written about the other people I know who gave up. I have lived with it for my whole life. I took Celexa for a year, finally buying the story that "maybe it IS medical". What that shit did for me was make me an emotionless zombie. Shit just didn't matter anymore; I would stare at the wall until someone called my name, then I would turn sleepily towards the sound. Oh, I wasn't feeling depressed anymore. I wasn't feeling anything else, either!
Then, there is the other side of it... these super-upbeat, nothing-bothers-me-ever, stiff-upper-lip, grass-is-always-greener, perpetual LIARS that walk around and act like bad f
eelings just don't exist. THOSE are the people that scare me the most, that keep such an iron grip on their emotions that there just isn't room for anything else. Emotions are like Jello (just go with me on this...) its all wiggly and fluid, and it fills the container you put it in perfectly... but if you grab a hand full and squeeze, that shit will come squirting out all sides. The idea with Jello is to make a nice, safe container for it, in whatever shape you desire... then chill.
I guess my point
here is, depression happens, and you have to deal with it. Sometimes forgetting about it for a while actually IS the answer. (Bring on the recreational drugs!) Most of the time, it takes some serious soul-searching to find the answer but, trust me, the answer IS there. Just take the time to look, and be honest with yourself. That is what most people have trouble with, is self-honesty. Admitting, even to yourself, that you have a problem.
SO... Find a friend, smoke a blunt, drink a beer, do whatever it is you have to do to take the time to search yourself for the answer. Check over your own bowl of Jello to find out what is sticking out of it that doesn't belong (Carrot sticks? WTF?!) and take care of it. Taking any kind of medication is not, nor will ever be, a real solution to depression.
By the way, you know what my mom and grandmother did after finding their dead husbands? My grandma lived in the same house another 25 years... my mom is still in the same house after 8. THAT is fucking cast-iron BALLS right there... Go Mom! Go Grandmaw!
The Angry Man
I wanted to take the time to discuss my views on depression. It's become almost a politica
l topic nowadays, and drugs to combat depression are advertised every-fucking-place... almost as much as beer, which USED to serve as the only anti-depressant people needed! Talking about depression in public is almost as bad as discussion religion... people have their views on handling it, and FUCK YOU if you think different.Everybody gets depressed once in awhile... Most people get depressed quite frequently. (I have been depression free for about... 38 minutes now! Thank you, thank you, please hold your applause until the end.) Does this mean that there is some imbalance in their chemical makeup, causing them to wear black clothes and listen to Suicidal Tendencies? No, it means that every day isn't fucking peas-and-carrots like these fucking do-gooder motivational speakers want it to be. Being alive sucks pretty god damn hard most of the time... but, it sure beats the shit out of being dead!
Now,
I'm no Dr. Phil, here to tell you to "Get real" and just get over it. Being depressed is some serious shit that everyone deals with, and you need to look into it and find the source. Any emotion has a trigger; you don't perceive anything without an object of your perception... Seeing the sun set triggers happiness in me. Watching my son climb a fence causes anxiety in me, for fear that he will fall. The thought about the amount of work I will have to complete tomorrow can cause anxiety, or even despair. Reminiscing about past relationships can cause all sorts of emotions. Depression follows the same rules. Is your depression caused by a sense of failure over your accomplishments, or lack thereof? Or is it caused by the loss of a loved one? Unrequited feelings for another? Unfulfilled expectations?What O-fends me is the band-wagon of American culture towards chemical solutions
to depression. I'm not going to get into the Health care speech again, I've done enough of that... but, it seems to me that the pharmacists just weren't selling enough pills, so they came up with a plan. "Hmm," thought Bob, the pharmacist. "What do people need today? Already got a head full of hair and an enormous penis! How about we convince people that 'depression' is a medical problem, and start selling pills to fight it?" (As if giant dick pills weren't enough to combat depression!) Now, you've got shit like Celexa and Prozac flying off the shelves like Tickle-me Elmo, and people are not 'fixing' their problems, just 'setting them aside'.Before so
me asshole gets on here and yells at me like "You don't know what it's like!" let me spit my depression cred... My grandfather killed himself when I was 1. My dad has been admitted into institutions. My step dad hung himself in my mom's basement, where she found him. I've already written about the other people I know who gave up. I have lived with it for my whole life. I took Celexa for a year, finally buying the story that "maybe it IS medical". What that shit did for me was make me an emotionless zombie. Shit just didn't matter anymore; I would stare at the wall until someone called my name, then I would turn sleepily towards the sound. Oh, I wasn't feeling depressed anymore. I wasn't feeling anything else, either!Then, there is the other side of it... these super-upbeat, nothing-bothers-me-ever, stiff-upper-lip, grass-is-always-greener, perpetual LIARS that walk around and act like bad f
eelings just don't exist. THOSE are the people that scare me the most, that keep such an iron grip on their emotions that there just isn't room for anything else. Emotions are like Jello (just go with me on this...) its all wiggly and fluid, and it fills the container you put it in perfectly... but if you grab a hand full and squeeze, that shit will come squirting out all sides. The idea with Jello is to make a nice, safe container for it, in whatever shape you desire... then chill.I guess my point
here is, depression happens, and you have to deal with it. Sometimes forgetting about it for a while actually IS the answer. (Bring on the recreational drugs!) Most of the time, it takes some serious soul-searching to find the answer but, trust me, the answer IS there. Just take the time to look, and be honest with yourself. That is what most people have trouble with, is self-honesty. Admitting, even to yourself, that you have a problem.SO... Find a friend, smoke a blunt, drink a beer, do whatever it is you have to do to take the time to search yourself for the answer. Check over your own bowl of Jello to find out what is sticking out of it that doesn't belong (Carrot sticks? WTF?!) and take care of it. Taking any kind of medication is not, nor will ever be, a real solution to depression.
By the way, you know what my mom and grandmother did after finding their dead husbands? My grandma lived in the same house another 25 years... my mom is still in the same house after 8. THAT is fucking cast-iron BALLS right there... Go Mom! Go Grandmaw!
The Angry Man
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