i wish i could explain it to you. the problem is, depression is such a generalized term — i’m depressed, i’m sad, i’m down et cetera — but there’s this insane fluidity and nuance to it that’s hard to explain in the moment. every time i try to wrangle why i’m depressed i end up roping a different reason, all valid. it’s about you though. about me dealing with you, i mean. you haven’t done anything to me besides ignite a small fire of affection in my heart that i am trying desperately to fan into flames. that in itself is kind of the issue, that you’re on a much higher level emotionally than i am. this depression makes me feeling like a burden, about feeling like i’m damaged goods, that there’s some guy out there who’s better for you than me. that’s a trigger point. the fact that you seem put together, happy, well-adjusted, always full of boundless positive energy, whereas i’m focused on the negative and sad shit. that’s a trigger point. and then sometimes it’s just really tiny details. like last night when i texted you that i didn’t want to go to the show and you just texted back “okay”, no punctuation even. you always use punctuation. you always use exclamation marks, especially when things are good. so when you just send me a word all i can think is, “she’s either busy, or she’s upset.” and i could ask, but then i would be a burden–you see how this can spiral?–and this illusion of confidence i seem to have gets blown away like morning fog in a spring breeze, revealing not san francisco so much as the pungent sugar beet factory stench of nampa, idaho during a week-long inversion. and all of this snowballs into a really deep depression, resulting in trips to the corner store buying whatever terrible junk food i can find. ice cream lately. it’s not pleasant, and i’d rather hole up in my dark bedroom than subject you to it. is that how relationships work? i don’t know.
people put me on a pedestal sometimes. they think i’m this great person but i’m not. i’m not. that’s not self-deprecation, that’s fact. none of us are so great as to be put on pedestals. we are all equals with special abilities but we are all human beings with blood and a heart that beats until it stops. none of us are worthy of being idolized, and we should all be treated as peers, as real people, as people who have real feelings and troubles, people who win oscars but also take horrific IBS-related shits in the toilet, people who paint beautiful landscapes while high on cocaine. we’re not perfect. that’s the beauty of the human race. my depression stems from not being worth the pedestal i’m put on, about having to force confidence because people expect it from me. rather than just being able to be myself, i have to be this larger than life figure because i literally am larger than most people, taller and bigger. but i can’t sustain it. i can’t sustain the high energy you have and that makes me depressed because why do not have any fucking energy? even when i work out and eat well, i’m still at like a 6 when you’re at a 10. you can bring me up to an 8. you should take that as a compliment.
at least i’m talking about it. with a therapist, i mean. and i’m trying to be more open in general. it’s hard because people tend not to care. i don’t blame them, we’ve all got shit going on in our lives. fuck, maybe i need antidepressants, i don’t know. but i do want you to know that when i hole myself up it’s only because i don’t want to bother you, but i would like some kind of acknowledgement that you care. i don’t mean that to sound so harsh, i just mean … i spend a lot of time alone, and when people say they care it means a lot to me, because it reminds me that i’m not alone. that’s all. you mean a lot to me and i don’t want to lose you because i distance myself from people when i feel sick. i’m working on that. i’m … working on it.