So… Things I need to tell the universe at large that have absolutely nothing to do with WoW. If you don’t care about my over-emotional word vomit, please move on, no hard feelings if you don’t read.
If you really feel like reading me blather about depression and being “Okay” and so forth, the actual post’s behind the jump cut.
I would like to admit, much as it pains some part of me that is deeply dysfunctional, that I am Not Okay.
In fact, quite often I am Not Okay. Many days, sure, I’m at least Somewhat Okay, but a lot of times I’m just plain Not Okay, and nobody knows. Because since I decided to stop letting my parents into the emotional turmoil of my life when I was eight years old, I have practically perfected the art of being Not Okay inside, but being Quite Okay outside.
This “Quite Okay” circuit, or whatever, sort of shorted out briefly when I was 19, which was the winter that I was unequivocally miserable and depressed and it was pretty obvious to everyone except my parents (with whom I am ALWAYS Quite Okay, except when sometimes I’m Quite Angry) and my therapist (yes, I see the irony in the fact that the guy who was supposed to HELP me never got to actually SEE me be Not Okay). But then I pulled myself together again.
Well. Not really. I just had to briefly move back in with my parents, and then in with someone who, while a dear friend, was not prone to being emotional at all, at least in a demonstrative way. And so I went back to being Quite Okay.
I snap out of it sometimes, when it gets really bad. For a few minutes or a few hours or sometimes even a whole day – one little thing becomes too much and it all comes crashing down and spilling out in an outpouring of tears and emotion, and for a brief, freeing moment, I am quite obviously Not Okay. And then I’m right back to being Quite Okay again.
I am probably one of the most cheerful depressed people you will ever meet.
Because it doesn’t matter how many times the people I love and trust tell me that I’m allowed to be Not Okay. It doesn’t matter how deeply I believe them, because I do. I remember that winter when I was 19, and the honesty of it, and it was Quite Okay to be Not Okay. People knew. People could see. Yes, I was miserably, almost suicidally depressed, and yes, I still bear the scars (physical and emotional) of that winter, but it was real and it was honest. And I can’t force myself back to it. Do I WANT to be miserably depressed? Hell no, I’d rather be actually Quite Okay, or even just Moderately Okay, because being miserably depressed sucks Kael’s BALLS. All five of them. But being miserably depressed and no one knowing because you’re so Gods-damned good at being Quite Okay is probably worse.
No, I’m not suicidal. I’m not even having a particularly bad downswing. I’m just sick of always being Okay.
Because I’m not. Today, I am Not Okay. Yesterday I was Not Okay. In fact, most of this summer I’ve been Not Okay to varying degrees, but no one had any idea because I’m so good at hiding it. Am I excited about the new job I’m starting on Wednesday? Absolutely! Am I thrilled about getting to quit my current job, which is a miserable excuse for employment? Hell-fucking-yeah! But it’s all surface-level. It’s all stuff that doesn’t penetrate down deep, and the moment I let that good feeling slip away, it’s back to feeling worthless, useless, talentless. I know, logically, that I am not any of those things. But logic like that doesn’t take easily. Or sometimes at all.
I’m not looking for sympathy, I’m not looking for pity, I’m not looking for attention. I just…had to tell people. I’m Not Okay, and I’ve been that way for a long time.