Many people don’t believe me when I tell them I live with depression. I guess I get it; I don’t fit the stereotype. Sorry I’m not a sweatpants wearing, old mascara faced heap on the couch (but call before you stop by on the weekend so I can clean up, k?)
I function and I function quite well. Also, I’m freaking hilarious. Trust me, I make myself laugh all the time, so I know funny. How can I be depressed if I’m laughing? It can be done, people. Trust me. It’s done all the time. Smiling, laughing, telling jokes; that doesn’t negate that I have a tiny little voice in my head that speaks up every now and again and makes getting through it all unnecessarily noisy and difficult. A voice that tells me I can’t when I know damn well I can. That tells me I won’t when normally I know I will. It’s annoying. It makes everyday functioning that much harder.
Being a human can be hard sometimes. It’s rough, so I laugh at the ridiculousness of how rough it can be. It’s either laugh or cry and I hate making my mascara run. Makeup is expensive.
Yes, I live with depression. But I’m not sad. Recognize the difference. Don’t be afraid to share your light with me; because I am doing my best to keep my dark from you. Yes, I am depressed, but I can laugh about it. I want to. I can. I have to.