I suppose I should explain my absence of late. The truth is I have found someone and she has kept me rather busy. She may, in fact, be my soul mate. I find I am rarely without her, and she is never far from my thoughts when I am alone. The relationship is perfect. There is no judgment. She is never fickle, and our moods are as in synch as a sorority’s period cycle. Naturally we spend all of our time together, and I don’t think she will ever leave me. Nope, this one is a keeper.
Of course those that know me are surprised and puzzled when I tell them this. “A soul mate? YOU! The shit!?” No one believes me, but after years of online dating, and many more of regular dating, I truly am… happy is the wrong word… content maybe? I have never been happy, and that in part is what caused this relationship to be exactly what I wanted it to be. Who is this magical creature that has tamed me, and driven me into the fold? Depression.
That’s right, I have started a meaningful and long term partnership with my depression. She does not judge me, or make me do things with people. She is fine with me just the way I am.
Me: Hey Depression, shall we go visit my friends today?
Depression: Why the hell would we want to do that? They will just judge you and bring you down. You know what we could do? Lounge around all weekend in your new Totoro Onesie while eating that dozen hardboiled eggs you made and watching an entire season of Gilmore Girls.
Depression never made me go outside to spend time with friends, she loathes human interaction in the same ways I do. Depression is totally fine with spending an entire weekend in bed and won’t look down on me when I decide to eat the entire tin of cookies instead of going to gym. In fact, Depression doesn’t want me to go to the gym at all. “Why go to the gym?” she asks. “You’re not going to lose any weight, and it’s not like losing weight will make you more appealing.”
Should I clean my room? Nope. Depression doesn’t mind the seven empty containers that used to contain dried squid stacked on my floor. She is actually puzzled I took the time to stack them and not just throw them in a pile. Depression never asks me to leave the toilet seat down – as a matter of record she has begun to wonder why I make the effort to get out of bed to pee in the first place. I could just fill up empty whiskey bottles with my piss, or why even go through all that trouble when I could just piss myself. It’s not like it would matter all that much to her. I think at this stage she fully expects that to be the logical progression of our relationship.
Me: Hey Depression, do you wanna go out to the bar and mingle?
Depression: Bars are expensive. We should just buy a bottle of whiskey and drink it alone in our apartment with the lights out.
Me: That sounds so hot, Depression.
Last weekend Depression and I stayed in Saturday night, and flipped through all the love letters I had sent to all my ex-lovers over the years. Depression was even encouraging. “It’s not your fault,” she would say. “She almost certainly found someone WAY better than you.” A fact that in many cases I know to be true. In truth, most of my relationships have been ruined in part because I was always cheating on them with Depression.
Yes, Depression is my one and only love. She is there whether I want her to be or not, and there doesn’t seem to be a thing in this world that I can do to alienate her. Sure, the sex could be better, or at least involve less crying, but hey she would be more than happy to have a threeway with her friend Acceptance.