Y'all know most of my secrets: my shameful and crippling addiction to snack foods, my unrequited love for John Malkovich, my inability to both whistle and snap, and such and such. But I do think it's interesting to have something out there that no one knows is written by me, and I'm sure the anon (I don't even know who it is) blogger posting here today thought the same thing. Sometimes people confess secrets in Blogshare, sometimes they write about people they otherwise can't, sometimes they tell embarrassing stories. Today's post from an anon scribe is more of the "secret" variety.
So today I give to you, my friends, a post written not by me, but some other soul out there in the world. Be kind and don't swear at them or make inappropriate sexual advances the way you normally would with me:
I am depressed. Not hide-the-sleeping-pills and get heavy medication depressed, but just a normal, terrible mood depressed. The kind of depressed that makes getting out of bed challenging, makes being polite to people nearly impossible, makes me moody and grouchy and irritable.
I've always been the happy one. The girl who cracks jokes and smiles and sees the humor in even the most dire of situations. But lately I can't be that girl. I can't find joy in anything. I fake it, though. For my husband, my family, my friends, I pretend like I'm still doing okay, like I still see the funny and the silly and enjoy the ridiculous.
I don't want them to worry, to ask me how I'm doing in that tone of voice. I don't want them to think less of me. So I pretend like I'm still me, like my world isn't tumbling down around my ears. I cry in the shower, where no one can hear or see me.
And then I meet friends for drinks and force smiles.
I don't want to pretend any more. I don't want to be this sad, moody person anymore, either. I want to be myself again.
But I don't know how.
I'll be back tomorrow, folks.