Thoughts on Depression

So I have a mild depression problem. It can occasionally be slightly debilitating, and lead to my having terrible thoughts about myself, but overall it’s not all that severe, so I am by no means an expert on the subject… Which means you can ignore everything I say from here on out without hurting my feelings…. not that I care what you think… ya ignorant bigot… sorry.


The depression itself is usually triggered by a whole lot of nothing that I am aware of, and leads to my feeling really bored, useless, lethargic, and apathetic about everything and nothing. This makes it really hard for me to do any personal work, as I can’t see any point in doing it. Everything seems dumb and pointless. I FEEL NOTHING!!! I can only imagine that this is how rocks feel all the time.


In an attempt to deal with it, I asked my doctor what could be done. She suggested talk therapy, and handed over the card of a local talk therapist. To which, I politely said “thank you”, and thought “the crap’s a talk therapist?”. The thought of what talk therapy might look like revolts me to my core, but I’m trying to keep an open mind about it… Trying and failing that is.


One method that I’ve used in the past for evading depression, is to draw about it while I still can. These drawings are usually pretty dark, but they will often reduce my bi-monthly depression to about four days instead of the usual week. So yeah, I’ve got that going for me.


All in all, I’m still learning how to deal with it, and am open to suggestions from those with past experience… Unless I’m depressed when I read said suggestion… In that case, I’ll probably just gurgle a bit and go back to brooding.


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Freelance illustrator, graphic designer, and blogger.

2 thoughts on “Thoughts on Depression”

  1. My Jamaican nanny I had whilst growing up swears by club soda and lime to eradicate any household stain. Boiling hot water and a splash of agave work as a panacea for the soul.


  2. Legitimately though, the only survival technique I’ve found that works is forcing myself into dialogue with God. What is the worth of my soul? Not in its service to others, but in his regard? And what joy does he have in mind (not necessarily a “reason”, if you’re following me) for my suffering?

    I’m finding that the willful suffering and the vicious joy makes it easier to forgive myself for being unimpressive.


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