My Lost Years

I've been seriously depressed for two years now. It started in 2003 and got worse from there. I used to be able to balance work and school with my burgeoning depression because, despite feeling 'down', I knew if I kept plugging away and working toward a goal that things would be get better. When they didn't, it became harder to keep plugging away at those things. Harder to work that summer job at the movie theatre, so that had to go, harder to work myself into the schedule of friends and family too busy to see me otherwise so they had to go, until school became too much to deal with and half-way through a semester I just gave up. That was about two years ago.

About that time I began taking anti-depressants. I was told it might take a while to find one that did the trick. By the time I'd gone through two or three in my search, I'd started seeing a therapist. That's been going on for about a year or so. I hesitate to say there haven't been any major breakthroughs, but some of the little things I've been able to better understand about myself have been terribly helpful. And it's nice being able to get everything on my mind out there, not unlike a blog except you're actually talking to someone and it's less likely someone halfway around the world is liable to stumble onto my ramblings that way.

I say this because I had a conversation today with a close friend who stubbornly attributed the lack of forward movement in my life to laziness. I won't dispute that I am indeed lazy at times and favor procrastination over finishing something soon as possible, but I found it so terribly offensive that he would say that I choose not to do something about my depression and that my depression is my own fault because of my lifestyle. I found that so offensive it made me sick.

And now I don't know what to do with this "friend". I promised myself I the next time he said something so vile that was it. I was cutting myself off from him. The first time was when he, myself, and a few of the guys were in a bar and he got pretty drunk and started throwing things at me. The second when he told me my whole like was a "complete f**k up and all I do is sit around on my fat ass". This would seem to be the third strike against him. But I have so few friends at the moment, I'm afraid to lose one, even if he is a miserable bastard.

And then there's the whole thing about putting this in my blog for all the folks that might stumble upon it to see. Well, it's more a cathartic practice for me than for the amusement or reading enjoyment of any potential visitors. If you found my ramblings interesting, then I'm pleased. If not, I apologize. Just felt like I had to get this off my chest, is all.