Depression

File it under things beyond my comprehension. I mean, apparently it happens. I just... It's like the 1903 Frank rockslide. 90 million tonnes of limestone slid off the east face of Turtle Mountain near Crowsnest Pass in Alberta. But really. What the actual fuck is 90 million tonnes? It's like trying to comprehend infinity or the scale of The Universe. I can't.

According to Wikipedia, depression is a mental disorder characterised by an all-encompassing low mood accompanied by low self-esteem and a loss of interest or pleasure in normally enjoyable activities.

I genuinely believe that I could never be depressed. At all. Ever. Seriously. Like. I cannot imagine a single thing that would ever make me depressed.

It would have to be something I did to myself because I refuse to take bullshit from anyone. If you do something that bothers me, I will remove myself from your presence. End of story. For example, if you're throwing up and I'm the only person around, I won't be for long. I don't care if you're puking blood. I have emetophobia and a panic disorder, in terms of my priorities, my ability to breathe is higher on my scale of things to worry about than anything to do with your health. I dont apologise for this.

And I can't imagine doing anything to myself that would cause me to be depressed. Apparently the following cause depression:

• loneliness
• stress
• relationship problems
• financial strain
• alcohol abuse
• unemployment
• health issues or chronic pain

I feel like my parents were always rather worried about me when I was a teenager. They probably thought I was lonely. My mother probably still thinks I'm lonely. Maybe most people assume I am? After all, I do spend most of my time alone in my room... Alone ≠ lonely. I very much enjoy being alone in my room. After all, I frequently quote "Adam's Song" and say, "I couldn't wait, 'til I got home, to pass the time in my room alone". It's so true, too. There are few things I enjoy as much as being alone in my room.

Being alone in my room means there's no one to bother me and I can do whatever the fuck I please. Also, alone isn't really alone. At present, I have a whole shelf full of books, a bass guitar, an acoustic guitar, a Halloween costume waiting to be made, two computers, and a stuffed turtle. Guess what? They're better than people! They do what I want. They don't bug me about things. They don't even talk back if I don't want. Honestly, if I were stranded on an island, I'd rather be stranded with a computer than with another person.

I'm not lonely. I'm a fucking hermit. + I kind of hate people.

Another thing is stress. I don't like being stressed. It rarely happens to me, but when it does, I don't like it. So I get rid of it. I had to work at a thrift store once, which was fucking awful and boring and a whole bunch of monotonous physical labour... which REALLY is not my thing at all. I'm more in the brainwork spectrum. I found it unpleasant and stressful. So I stopped working there. It was simple. If it's stressful, I either make it not stressful, or I stop doing whatever the fuck it is that's stressing me out. Life is too short to be stressed. If you're stressed out, clearly you're doing something wrong.

Relationship problems! This is something I don't think I will ever have! I don't do relationships. I haven't for years. Don't plan to any time soon. Too ridiculous and clingy and... blergh.

Financial strain. As if. Moving on.

Alcohol abuse... see above where I mentioned emetophobia. Too afraid of barfing to drink. Also. I just don't like being drunk. I don't know why. Any time I do drink, I'm just like, ew, why did I think I would enjoy this?

Unemployment. Why is this a reason for depression? Shouldn't this be a cure for depression? Don't most people have fucking awful "worker-bee" jobs that are just a part of the whole machine that suck all the life out of them? Work, eat, sleep, repeat. Fuck that! Do what you love. Fuck the rest.

One of the main reasons why I can't comprehend depression and am positive I will never be depressed is because I like pain far too much to ever be unhappy about experiencing it. I like pressing my fingers into my bruises. I love the sting of a slap. I like sitting for tattoos. It's not a thing I unhappily sit through for the art. It is a thing that I unflinchingly endure because I enjoy the way it feels. If I didn't, I'd have stopped getting tattoos a very long time ago. I don't do things I don't like. I don't do things that actually hurt. I think "pain" and "hurting" are different things. I like pain, but I don't enjoy things that hurt. Does that even make sense? I love being sad. I love crying. I love being so miserable I could tear my skin off. And then I listen to music when I'm tired of it and I put myself in a different mood.

I like getting piercings. I love, love, love cutting designs into my skin with razor blades. I really like watching them bleed. I like the healing burn that I get for the next few days. I like the scars they leave. I like being scratched and bitten. I find it thrilling to go flying off of my bicycle and leave a few layers of my skin attached to the pavement once I ride off. I don't even know when I became so enamoured with pain. I like that I am, though. It makes me feel superhuman.

Another thing is that I could never have low self-esteem. Sometimes I hate my body so much I never want to eat again and just want to tear off all of my skin... but then OhMyGod, food is SO good! Sometimes I won't eat for a while. Which gives me these empty stomach pains that feel so so nice. And then I remember how awesome food is and eat again. Pasta with sauce. Cookies. Home-made peanut granola with Kefir to promote fucking awesome gut flora. Food is just way too fucking amazing to not eat. Of course I'm jealous of concentration camp victims, though. It's not fair. They didn't even want to be that thin. Save all of them and starve me to skeletal. I would if I could. I'd trade places with every single one of them. How fucked is that? But really. I love food and don't have an eating disorder. Promise.

But so what? A fat ass can be exercised off if I was really so inclined to do so. Perhaps when I live somewhere that doesn't have such unpleasant weather. Seriously, fuck Toronto. Just because I hate my thighs, it doesn't mean I hate myself. Because seriously, fuck off, I am awesome. If I don't like me, who the fuck else would I expect to? I certainly don't like people who don't like themselves. And anyway, why wouldn't I like myself? I'm witty, clever, intelligent, and a total Slytherin. I can play polo, bass, and paint. I like aliens, pirates, and dinosaurs. I have tattoos and cool hair. And, I can make myself orgasm. What's not to like? I am exactly what 5-year-old me would have wanted to be when I was my age. Winning at life, this is how it's done. OH! And I'm being a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle for Halloween this year. Seriously, I'm awesome.

So... yeah. I might seem depressed because I sit around alone in my room all day crying about Russell Crowe dying in Gladiator, or being unhappy about my fucking fat ass, or carving snakes into my flesh with razors, or staring blankly at the ceiling while listening to songs about suicide. But it's because I genuinely very much enjoy doing these things. I don't do things I don't want to do.