I have to be super offensive for a minute.

Listen.

You are probably not someone’s fix for depression.

You might be something that makes the days better, you might be a shoulder to cry on, and you might be their support….

…..

….but don’t get mad and puffed up if they have a moment of depression. Don’t be salty just because they still have it.

If you know somebody who had it and got over it, that’s great. That’s them. Don’t tell that to the person you’re with, who is still going through something. Whether it is chemical or circumstantial, whether it is BOTH–don’t fucking compare them to other people. That makes it WORSE.

Why do people get so offended when you have depression?

“I’m here, so you should be happy and better.”

Well,

I had these feelings before I met you. I had them before I even knew what they were. I could never afford to get help for them. I’ve been analyzed a few times. Anxiety, Depression. Simple, direct. I know what I have.

You are a wonderful person. You are also a very annoying and hurtful person at times. You’re impatient and don’t understand things a lot, sometimes.

I think this is one of those big things.

You cannot expect me to erase all of this overnight. You say “I don’t”, but the commentary says otherwise. You are here, yes. I am happier, yes. But this thing isn’t going away so fast. And it would be incredibly great if my “supporter” would stop commenting on it like it’s a series of paperwork or some annoying thing they can’t handle.

I hear the tired tone in your voice.

I hear the exasperated sighs.

I feel/see/hear the inconsideration.

You are not medication. You are not a mental health doctor. You are but one imperfect person. I ask you to be there for me, not make all these comments about why I need to be happy.

That also implies I’m ungrateful for you being here.

There are so many things, I think, that need to change between us. If people are willing to change. It seems like we care so much, we talk about doing the work, but the obstacles make it harder.

Traveling, opinions, moods, excuses, family traits.

I mean…

You found a way to cope and be stronger than you know. I find ways to cope. But sometimes it’s overwhelming. It just simply is.

Well,

that’s all I had to say.

I think I’m supposed to be smiling and suffering in perfect silence or something. People–most of them–would rather not hear that you’re sad in such a world of privilege. I see what I have. Trust me, I see it.

I see it.

Not every moment is dark by the way.

Not every case of depression is textbook.

You cannot always solve every problem.

Just be there for me. WITHOUT the snarky commentary.

Yes, it’s snarky.

I wrote a poem about what it’s like for me.

“But You’re Thirty…”

Actually, I’m 31….but Claro que sí….I’m in my thirties. Getting judged for my likes and interests, but being told constantly to stop talking about how old I am. Being told to be myself, but having said interests, likes, and ideas labeled as stupid. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t, but I guess I didn’t get the manual on how to be in my thirties the right way. I’m doing me, I’m being me, and that’s “idiotic” now.

What? Cross the year mark before you decide who I am or what’s uncool about me. I won’t change it but by all means, try me. This is just like that time I was minding MY business, waiting for my cousin to come out of some teeny bopper party, and some shit ass dude said “you needa stop playin’ them games sweetheart!” when I told him I was 22 and playing Yoshi’s Island. Well fuck that. I don’t follow the so-called mold of being this or that. Been there, done that, would rather be myself any day.

So I got mad and defensive on today’s front. I’m allowed to do that. THAT ended up in “Imma let you go” territory, and that is what inspired today’s list.

I am 31 and:

  1. I still collect stuffed animals. Yoshi, Hello Kitty, Li’l Bub, Care Bears
  2. I love certain children’s songs.
  3. I like graphic tees.
  4. I quote cartoons and viral videos from time to time. Who doesn’t?
  5. I love Beyonce! THAT seems to be a problem. Why? Don’t know, don’t care.
  6. I like ridiculous YouTube videos. The silly ones, the viral ones, the eye-rolling ones. Love them.
  7. I like a lot of YouTubers who are actually younger than I am: MacDoesIt, Markiplier, Odd1sOut, and JacksFilms especially.
  8. Sometimes I color pictures. Colored pencils, on the floor, eyes wide open, with a smile.
  9. I still edit my Gaia Online avatar.
  10. Sometimes I like to visit Mediatakeout.
  11. YES, I AM INTERESTED IN THE REMY MA AND NICKI MINAJ BEEF. I’m not even a fan of either one. I have listened to a few songs and honestly it’s just petty drama. It’s life, it’s publicity–it’s interesting.
  12. I have over 20 Gift ‘Ems Girls because I think they’re cute.
  13. I have a ball collection from those 25-cent machines seen at stores.
  14. I FUCKING LOVE GLITTER.
  15. I like rainbows.
  16. I also like tinsel. Lots. Of. Tinsel.
  17. I love blowing bubbles.
  18. I eat cereal at odd hours of the day, but never actually at breakfast time.
  19. I collect FunkoPop dolls!
  20. I read manga and collect comics.
  21. I like Candy Crush, Neko Atsume, Klepto Cats, and almost all the popular puzzle games.
  22. I follow tons of parakeet and cat accounts on Instagram.
  23. I like candy. Judge me for that, too.

I like a lot of stuff. I am not wound up or stuck on “what an adult should like”. I chose not to live like that, because of my jovial nature. It makes me happy. Things make me cope. I don’t like to spend every waking moment in the unhappiness that plagues me. I want to live, to smile, and I function and cope differently. Why does it have to be stupid? Why does anyone feel like they need to repeat “but you’re 3o…” over and over, like that’s going to change my mind or make me feel bad? It pisses me off. YES, I AM 31. YES, I LIKE CERTAIN THINGS. GET OVER IT.

You’re not paying for it, so why does it matter? If you like me for who I am, it shouldn’t matter. Especially if you’re into some pretty childish or things some would call “stupid”. I have opinions, but I don’t go in on you. I leave it alone because you like what you like, and you’d be nine times as defensive. We BOTH know what it feels like to be judged, so why even go there, despite what you’re feeling. Blunt, blunt, blunt all the time until somebody pops off.

After all we’ve identified with, who are you to climb on the high horse and look down upon me, just because you’re sooooo over something? Don’t even know the whole story, but you have so much to say about it, despite not caring. It’s more of the fact that I have an interest in it. “You of all people. I can’t believe it.” Why, because it makes me like everyone else? Why, because it’s beneath you? Right, because you’re so above it all and I’m just a lowly peon. That beef thing has been online for almost 24+ hours. The memes are funny. Some of these posts are gold. GOD. I’m not allowed to have fun now? I gotta be all high tea prim and proper? All put together and perfectly mature, huh.

I will like what I like, until I choose not to like it anymore. If you don’t like it ’round here, find another, ‘nother love.

I will not apologize for being myself.

“Easy”

I had this long and angry post in mind about a response to somebody saying my life was “easy”, but the more I wrote, and the more I read, I found myself to be so tired of it. Who am I trying to convince, when I’m living it? Who do I need to have on my side, when it will always be ME who is solving my own problems? I don’t ask for anything. I’ll suffer in silence with the last ounce of blood in my body before I call someone for help. I’ll do surveys all night to make twenty bucks before I hit up anyone.

If your life was super hard, and you had to come up through tons of bullshit, then yes congratulations you did it yourself. You did the work, maybe you have some good advice. But don’t come swooping down on my ass, just because my brand of misfortune isn’t the textbook standard of not being easy. I’m here, rent free because my father got tired of living with me. I have a temporary job babysitting, because I’m taking classes online. I’m taking classes online–which are not easy, which are not simple, which are not an “idiot’s courses”, fighting to hold on to a GPA over 3.6 so I can get some money off my tuition, and you know….GRADUATE and finally get a decent job? What’s easy about that? What’s easy about being at home all day? Is that what people think I do? Just sit around and eat bon bons?

I’m at home all day because I don’t have a car. Can’t afford, can’t drive. I’m at home while my aunt is at work, which also means taking care of my grandmother, on top of taking care of a kid. I love them both, but sometimes they collide. What part of that is easy? What part of learning the lesson of living life at my own pace, while being told a million other things about how to live is easy? What part of having family question you and wonder and worry behind your back about failure status is easy? What part of fighting embarrassment is easy? Every single day, no matter what is said or how I feel–I work towards my goals. Every single fucking day, no matter who has their judgment because our work is different–I put in the time, even if it’s only a cent closer.

What is easy about contending with your own emotions and self worth? What is easy about depression? What is easy about opening up yourself to other people, and having it thrown back into your face? What’s easy about any of this?

You will not find me falling on a fainting couch with a silk hanky in my hands. I will hide myself in darkness or somebody’s bathroom to cry, before I face another judgmental human being for help and answers. I am tired of it. People don’t know how to treat you, sometimes. Very rarely will I trust someone with those feelings. You will not see me saying the world owes me anything. It would be NICE to catch a break, but not everyone gets one. I’m here spiraling into madness between keeping positive and having my vibes killed, and then being told to get over that with a dose of reality.

I mean.

You can pick three things out of 100 fucked up parts of my life to say things are easy. Why do you care about that, if you supposedly like me? Don’t you have a better way of telling somebody that stuff? It seems a lot less like reality, and a lot more like a bitter person who hasn’t fully contended with their own crap, coming at me because I’m in constant attempt to handle mine. AGAIN, I was asleep the day they were handing out the do-right manuals. I’m a late bloomer, winging this shit. You found YOUR way to wing it, so let ME find mine, damn it.

I know I’m behind. For fuck’s sake, I see that every single day on my timeline. Things have a way of getting to you. Last time I checked, I was a human being with a heart. It would be different if I didn’t do anything about it. And I know I won’t please everyone with my thoughts or choices. It’s frustrating, but it’s fine.

So I have decided to nip things in the bud.

I will not explain or convince anymore. The same write offs I have been given will be sent right back. I will protect myself. Perhaps I have revealed and given up too much. The same applies to those feelings of dejection and rejection–old friends, of course. We have been pals since elementary school, when no boy wanted us, and the girls either made fun of us or lowkey friended us.

It’s not as easy as you think.