Mind you, I’ve been dealing with [clinical depression] since I can remember which technically qualifies me as someone with “early onset major depressive disorder.” That sounds downrightOscar-worthy. But the fact is that– like being poor or double jointed or Canadian– I just didn’t know there was any other way to be. I thought everyone had an annoying chorus of negative thoughts and weekends spent in bed and a dull sense that there had been a mistake in my being born. I had fantasies of joining the unknown in my sleep– my soul and neurons and unleashed bliss could rejoin the cosmic soup which has played a cruel yet hilarious joke on the whole of humanity. I was convinced we could all experience peace and joy when the lines between “me” and “others” could finally be dismantled in death.
Why I am blabbing on like a psych patient? Because that’s what I think about. That’s what I’ve always thought about– since I was 9 or 10. I can’t really tell you the exact age, which is one really terrible quality of depression. I have virtually no long term memory of years, places, people, experiences. But I do remember how I felt.
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