Pool of Tears

Well, I guess NOW you have something to cry about . . .

 

`I wish I hadn’t cried so much!’ said Alice, as she swam about, trying to find her way out. `I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears! That WILL be a queer thing, to be sure! However, everything is queer to-day.’
          Alice in Wonderland
 
Is it possible, like Alice, to drown in your own tears?   I am a champion crier, having started practicing in infancy, and further perfecting the art during sessions of “The Lord of the Flies” on the playground in public school.  Why cry so much?  Is it because I was orphaned at a young age with no money, food, or decent clothes and had to sell matches on the street until Hans Christian Anderson mercifully killed me?   No, I’m not the poor little match girl, or the little mermaid, or any of his other pathetic characters (What DID people do to Anderson anyway?  I want to go back in time and give him Zoloft.)  Wait . . . where was I?
Thank you so bloody much, Hans
Oh, yes, on top of an apparent case of ADHD, I have depression.  It’s not something I go around advertising, because shockingly this is not a very popular condition.  If you have heart disease, people go aw, and tell you to take your little nitroglycerin pills, which confuses me, because I had always thought nitroglycerin blew you up.  I guess in that case you wouldn’t have to worry about heart disease at least.
But with depression, people get all uncomfortable.  It’s like saying you’re gay.  Suddenly people of the same sex think you’re going to be filled with uncontrollable lust for them.  I’m straight, not gay, yet somehow able to stop myself from jumping every man I see (oh, sometimes it’s an effort, being the slutty librarian I am).  But I can control my impulses.  And I’m not contagious (although I do think some really irritating people are carriers of depression). 
Proof that humanity is lost

 

So I take medication, and I pay someone to listen to me whine.  And most of the time, I’m okay.  And I walk among you, indistinguishable from the normal population – like pod people.  Or Republicans.  But sometimes I’m overwhelmed, and I have to go off by myself and cry.  And cry.  Until I get this massive headache, which is no fun at all, because I didn’t even get to be happy drunk first. 
Depression isn’t just a mental disease; it’s physical too.  You have no energy, so you lay there like a slug, and you revel in lying there like a slug, because the entire world is awful what with all the crime, pollution, poverty, and Twilight movies.  You see the world through dark-colored glasses, so all the bad is magnified.  You might not have a terminal illness, but you did have a funny cough earlier and a pain in your hip.  Whatever you do, don’t research your symptoms on WebMd.
You have every one of these diseases.  Happy?

 

You did, didn’t you?  So now you are worried that you have an incurable disease, on top of your sadness about the general state of the world, and the fact that people will actually wear dresses like this in public. 
 
And then you get off the couch, and you go out to work, or the store, or something, and invariably there are people there.  And these people will annoy you by breathing.  You have to do something about this, and unfortunately, murder is generally frowned upon.  You must either find some sort of way to get through it, or you go back to being the couch slug.
Get off the couch!  No, you can’t be a slug.  There is no money in being a slug, unless you’re either independently wealthy or a Congressman.  So you take your medicine, if the doctor says you need it (he has a medical degree, dufus99 on the Internet most likely does not).  And you get counseling, if that helps you.  And you find something, anything, that makes you happy.  I’m sure there’s something.  For me, it’s laughing at stupid people, but whatever works for you.
Depression is the great lie.  It is the Jabberwock that hides in the closet of your mind.  But depression doesn’t define who I am, anymore than heart disease defines Ronald McDonald (just say no to Big Macs, clown!)  So sometimes I, as my aunt used to say as a child, have me a little cryin’ spell.  But then I have to pick yourself up and go after that white rabbit, because he’s not going to chase himself, and if I stick around I might just drown in my own tears.  And there’s too much of Wonderland to see yet, to do that.
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7 responses

  1. I also suffer depression, and anxiety, and have recently become a champion crier, too. It’s quite an achievement, really. But mostly I just mention that so you will know I understand and am not tactlessly or uncomfortably ignoring the point of your post in my comment.

    Because the comment I actually wanted to make was that I find the idea of being mercifully killed by Hans Christian Anderson hilarious. I’d always thought of his stories as depressing, but you’ve opened my eyes. Obviously he was a great humanitarian selflessly putting his characters out of their misery. He’s been sadly misunderstood, and not just by Disney. Thank you. 🙂

    1. You’re very welcome. I want to go back in time and give him Zoloft along with Charles Dickens, John Steinbeck, and so many others.

      1. Charles Dickens? Really?? That guy’s funny. He’s got such a great biting sense of humour. I think he faced the harsh reality of the world with a smile – and a subtle dig at everyone else.

        I don’t remember John Steinbeck. Did he write “Of mice and men”? (am I embarrassing myself by asking that???) If so, maybe you’re right. I haven’t read anything else of his though. And if that wasn’t him then maybe I haven’t read anything of his.

        Oh man, I’m feeling like a literary dunce right now… It would be so easy to look it up and avoid embarrassment but I just keep typing and thinking how much effort it is to open a new tab and google it so I think I’m too lazy to do that. Forgive me. Sometimes I’m very smart. Other times I’m a shameless ditz.

        1. Haha, he did write Of Mice and Men. Also The Grapes of Wrath, another laugh a minute. I had to look up his name too, and I’m an English major. I talk about him in another blog post – books they made you read in school.

          I didn’t realize that about Charles Dickens. I just hated Great Expectations. Didn’t realize he had humorous stuff.

  2. Great Expectations IS humorous. Did you really not laugh at any of it? The whole situation is absurd. All the characters are ridiculous, and the irony of it must surely have been a joke. If Dickens wasn’t laughing at that book, I’m not sure what else he could possibly ave been trying to get at.

    That said, his books are all the same so if you really didn’t find that funny, don’t go out and read anything else of his. You’ll be sorely disappointed and then blame me for lying about how amusing he is.

    I’m actually beginning to wonder if maybe I’ve got it wrong and you’re not actually meant to laugh at Dickens. Maybe my old English teachers are nodding at this sudden realisation, and saying to each other “Finally! She figures out that it’s inappropriate to like Iago, idolise The Queen of Hearts, laugh at Pip’s misfortunes and feel compassion for Kitty and Lydia.” They probably thought I would never amount to anything with my skewed outlook on life. They might be right.

    But then – we did agree that Of Mice and Men was really sad, so at least I feel like I read something properly.

    1. Lol. I think it’s a matter of opinion. Pip actually deserved a lot of the crap he got, at least in the beginning. Estella was a bitch and half but then she was raised by one. It’s been a long time since I read it back in high school. I might have to revisit it. Did you know that he first wrote the story as a serial in a magazine and his readers, after sticking with him through who knows how many issues, were so pissed at him for not ending it happily that the story actually has two endings? The original and the alternate where he ends up with Estella. I find that hilarious.

      I’m rooting for the villain in 50 Shades because I hate those characters. So much. At least the classics, while depressing, were written by people with brains. I swear I think this woman is 13 not late forties, except that’s insulting to my 12 year old who would never write that badly. Makes us writers weep.

      1. I’ve not read 50 Shades and don’t really intend to. But enjoy reading and mocking it.

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