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“To be stupid, selfish, and have good health are three requirements for happiness, though if stupidity is lacking, all is lost.” ~ Gustave Flaubert

One of my major pet peeves is (was? used to be?) those blogs and online journals of mostly teenagers that have nothing better to do than complain. You know the ones.
god i’m like soooooooooo depressed…
and
omg, i totally hate my _______(fill in the blank.. parents? sister? teacher? life?)…
and
nobodygetsme
and
i just wanna die

My biggest problem with these blogs (or moreso the people who wrote them) was that the teenagers writing them probably didn’t even know the meaning of true suffering. I admit that I judged them. It can’t be that bad, I thought. They’re just begging for attention. They probably have very loving homes, with very loving families. They probably have everything they’ve ever wanted and don’t actually *have* anything to complain about, so they’re complaining anyway. Because apparently being depressed and suicidal is some kind of new fad that I missed. But of course, I reasoned, someone who’s really depressed, wouldn’t actually come out and say so. Not even to the annonymous world that read their online journal.

But maybe, just maybe I was wrong. Maybe you can have everything, and no reason to be sad or depressed, but you just are. Everything becomes a source of dissappointment, even things that shouldn’t be. Until you’re at the point of complaining about things that you have no reason to be complaining about. Because you really can’t see the point of anything anymore.

This realization is coming after looking over the entries I’ve written over the course of the past year and a half–almost two years. Realizing that I am almost the epitome of what I can’t stand. I’ve had something to complain about in nearly every one of them. Boys. Money. Politics. Boys. Parents. School. Boys. LIfe. Love. And in one or two entries I actually have contemplated the idea that I could be suffering a mild form of depression. Never very seriously though. Mostly because I can’t stand self-analyzation and self-diagnoses. Every idiot who’s ever read even the smallest article on psychology or some aspect of it suddenly thinks they’re an expert and can analyze and diagnose everyone. Themselves included.

But maybe, just maybe every so often somebody gets it right. Maybe they’re not fabricating symptoms to make themselves more pitiable. Maybe they really can’t sleep. Or can’t eat. Feel anxious all the time. Can’t seem to ever be happy about anything. Maybe its more than just a mood swing. Maybe there’s actually something wrong.

Maybe, just maybe I am on the verge of serious depression, “like for real” I honestly think that the only thing keeping me going at all is the fact that I’ve seen what suicide can do to a family (my cousin committed suicide 3 years ago) and I’d never want to put anybody through that. And anyway, I don’t think I have any real desire to die. I’d eventually like to live my life out. I have a plan, after all.
Of course by saying all of this, I automatically put myself up for review. Just as I’ve judged other people, I may now be judged. Some may think that this is just a cry for attention, or an overreaction to my school and relationship problems combined with the fact that I lost my grandmother 2 months ago (forgot about that, didn’t you?) and am just, in general, overly hormonal, and have an inherent need for dramatics in my life. *Shrugs* Maybe it is. How the hell would I know? I’m not a doctor. But maybe, just maybe there actually is something wrong. I admit– I probably don’t really have anything to complain about. Dammit, I should be happy!! Why can’t I just be freaking happy??????
But, of course, by my own reasoning, because I’ve just said it–I’ve just said that I think I might be depressed– that makes it automatically untrue. Right?