Adventures in Depression

First of I would like to thank Hyperbole and a Half for giving me the inspiration to leave the bathtub. Now how I got there…

**I must note that I do not have normal human emotions. I don’t have good days and bad days sprinkled throughout a week or a month like a normal person.  I am an eternal optimist, meaning I have 99.999% AWESOME days:D But every once and a while I will go manic depressive for like six hours.

Here's how it starts. I hate essays. Every so often, I get twelve of them assigned on the same day.  On these days, all the joys of life cease to exist.  My worries and pains (that really aren’t all that worrisome or painful) all of the sudden make me want to kill myself. Not literally kill myself, but you know what I mean.  Anyways, on days like these my normally optimistic demeanor turns into a little bitch at the thought of having to face the murder clowns with Ebola grenades. My motivation to be happy runs off to go hide under the bed and I am left to suffer. Like I said, it doesn’t happen very often, but when it does my natural female instinct forces me to buy three pints of Ben and Jerry’s and seventeen bags of skittles. From there, I lock myself in the bathroom and sit in the tub. For like six hours.

“What do you do for six hours?”  You ask.

While shoveling spoonfulls of “Americone Dream” into my mouth and quietly sobbing, I sit there and listen to sad music and think about all of the sad things in life, like dead puppies and our economy.

It kind of looks like this

It’s not pretty.

See, my depressive-ness starts off for fear of essays (and my unconventional writing process). It ends with fear that the world will explode/I will end up alone/I will die of Ebola. It’s a snowball effect. Or maybe it’s a never ending cycle bringing me back to the reason why I hate essays.

It’s confusing.

Anyways, sometime near the end of six hours I have an epiphany. I find some redeeming quality about life and my motivation to be happy crawls out from hiding. I get out of the bathtub (which at that point is full of melted ice cream and sad thoughts) and metaphorically/literally watch my troubles go down the drain. And just like that my manic-depressiveness is over!

(It’s a really weird process.)

So instead of writing one of my twelve essays, I decided to share with you my adventures in depression.