Depressed My Ass

The study table I never use is in a seemingly irreconcilable mess and my laptop is bruised and battered from the constant road trips I bring it out on. In fact I cannot remember the last time I left my house without it weighing down on my shoulders and I think I might never get used to the lightened load if I ever decide to leave it at home.

Teenage girls are complaining about suffering from depression on their brightly colored blogs; their laments a lackluster companion to the smiling selcas and YouTube videos that relentlessly vie for attention. Depression? What do you know about depression when your life is a backdrop of cafe hopping, OOTDs and an ego that’s constantly being inflated by your army of loyal readers? If having a generic bad day that involves you lying on your back in bed for 20 minutes wondering where your life is headed and then crawling under the showers to wash away the tear tracks caused by an inexplicable sense of failure translates into depression, being psychologically healthy would be a real rare trait.

Yes I’m complaining. Because the words cannot help but bubble over from the cauldron it has been forced to marinate in. We think we have it so bad, that our lives are a mess and conveniently use our occasional sadness as a pity card, a winning marketing strategy. Truth is, that sadness you think suffocates you on the rare days you succumb to it? That’s not depression, that’s called growing up. And growing up is hard. It’s not life threatening, neither can it be clinically diagnosed and printed upon a label you wear around your wrist. But growing up can keep you awake on many nights, tossing and turning till the sheets are rumpled and your sanity a jumbled mess on the ground. Some people have it tossed in their faces and others savour it served on a silver platter. Growing up sucks, but some of us just have it easier.

So please don’t pull out the insanity card and bemoan the sadness you have in your life. Because everyone has it, and when it really sits on the brink of your lucidity, it doesn’t feel like a popcorn kernel ready to explode. It’s the slight weariness and the white space you see when your thoughts empty from your mind. It’s the sleepless nights that have no beginning, the nights that even a tiny pink pill cannot bring you the repose you so desperately crave. It’s nothing.

Growing Up

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Been working on my e-mail signature, resume and LinkedIn profile for the past tens of hours and I’ve reached one conclusion — growing up is difficult. Also, LinkedIn is like a sinister version of Facebook where every move you make is scrutinised by potential co-workers, bosses or competitors. It makes uploading a profile picture one of the most stressful things I’ve done this week and that’s perhaps the reason behind why the summary of my life still remains an empty space on that page.

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There are tests to sit for and exams to take, but somehow I’ve been learning to take things easier these days after that particularly hectic September — and my first step is to take my time when it comes to replying work emails. I believe that things will fall into place, if not today, maybe tomorrow.

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Damsel in Distress

ImageIt is with all honesty that I type this, a confession of sorts. A purge maybe. But regardless of what this is or who it is for, it is a revelation so I can hold myself together. For now.

I don’t cope very well with emotional stress. Give me a hundred pages and an exam the next morning and watch as I cruise along and ace it like it didn’t even pose even the slightest of a challenge to me. But throw me in a drop of helplessness, hopelessness and loneliness? Hold a box of popcorn and watch me unravel faster than a ball of yarn left to roll.

But as it comes to all problems, there’s always a solution. A pity mine comes either with alcohol involved, or evokes a faux display of concern graced upon an onlooker’s face. My coping mechanism is to self destruct and hope that when I’m done, what’s left can somehow pick up the broken pieces and become something better – the same way nature copes with problems too big to handle.

While it may seem ridiculous and outrageous to others, destroying yourself can be therapeutic. It’s not a cry for attention (‘cos I’d relish in the fact that you’ll leave me alone), neither is it a desperate call for help. I don’t want to die, I just want to make sure all the bad things are gone so the good things can happen.

You cannot contain a fire that’s determined to burn, neither can you change the path of a storm that’s destined to happen. The same way you cannot stop this devastation. It’s fruitless, and I don’t have the heart to tell you. Take away everything I have to cope and I’ll claw through with fingers and bones.

You cannot save a damsel who loves her distress, so stop trying. Especially when this one here knows that the adequate amount of distress will end up doing her good in the end.

Back On Track

“When I love someone else, someone new, I will see parts of everyone in him. All of my old lovers will come together like artifacts in a museum and rest on top of my new love. You go everywhere with me, don’t you understand? If I gave you a piece of my heart once, you have permission to hold on to it forever. “

Read more at http://thoughtcatalog.com/2012/a-note-to-anyone-whos-ever-loved-me/#kHLCcIAYiSHOcXyK.99

Haven’t really gotten the time to sit down and write something (granted, I’m writing everyday, just not for this blog…) but I am still reading! And enjoying myself quite a fair bit at work. I’ll be back really soon! But in the meantime, hold on to your chairs and countdown…because its FUHRIDAY!

And its time to party. <:-)

(Yep, that’s a party hat.)