This week is a low week. There are no two ways about it. I’ve spent Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday trying to make myself happy by doing fun stuff and trying my hardest to keep positive. But today I discovered that depression is contagious, I’ve passed on this horrible virus. What’s worse is it crosses species boundaries.
My lovely little car, who has faithfully charioted me around and protected me from the disgusting cesspool that is public transport is depressed. She wakes up, but she won’t go anywhere. Sound familiar?
My worst fears have come true. I have always worried that sharing my depressive thoughts would lead another person to my depressing line of thinking. They could end up seeing things how I do and this insipid, dark cloud would spread like sea fog. I’m pretty sure it’s mostly an irrational fear but I think that just makes it a phobia.
Fortunately for me and my little car there is a cure for mechanical depression. She’ll hopefully back to her old self, struggling with minor slopes and accelerating, in no time. But my not so mechanical mind remains broken. No matter how hard I have tried this week I have still felt like rubbish.
It’s one of those frustrating things about depression. If it was just a matter of trying harder than the average person to keep happy, it’d be manageable and I’d be okay, ish. But it’s not. All those people than tell you to ‘smile, it might never happen’ or ‘think happy thoughts’ just don’t understand depression. They just don’t understand that you could have had the best day of your life but the entire time you were numb to it because you couldn’t feel anything but melancholy.