Depression is an Asshole.
Yeah, a lot of funny people are depressed as fuck. “The Humorists’ Club” by Rea Irvin
I was diagnosed with chronic depression as a teenager. The PTSD I acquired after my rape, didn’t help. Nor did a bunch of stuff I don’t really feel like going into here. I probably will later, just not now. Spending two days in the hospital and a week out of work with gallstones wasn’t exactly awesome either.
So, I’m trying to work my way out from under a cloud of wahhh, and be productive again.
Granted, I’ve got a lot on my plate. I’m not doing Culture Track at Norwescon this year, I’m doing Comics, which I’m hoping I can revitalize. When I started doing Culture, or the “Alt-Lifestyles track” as it was named at the time, I had 15 hours of programming, and a couple panelists I could invite. This year, Culture Track had 38 hours of programming, a lot of it focused on feminism, racism, and in general not being a privileged dickbag to people different from you.
Now, I’m turning my attention to Comics. We’ll see what I can do with that. And I’m pretty excited.
I’ve also been drawing again, because I quit drawing as a teenager, as I’d been told I should focus on writing OR art.
That was the dumbest advice I have ever gotten. So, the husband wants us to start doing a webcomic, which means I have to bet my shit together and get my drawing back up to speed. And I owe several people knitting projects. And myself. I’ve also been learning how to play the bass so I can be part of an all girl punk band. And I just happened to have picked up a wood carving kit a couple years ago, because I have always wanted to do that.
I don’t know. I just know the idea of carving mermaids out of blocks of wood makes me very happy.
Where does the depression come in?
Well, when it starts telling me I’m never going to be good at any of this, and why am I even trying, and nobody likes me anyway.
Add to that spending time with someone who has a lot of issues with my weight, and just exacerbates my own issues with it. AND the fact that I found out I’ve lost 20 lbs somehow, which tends to trigger the ED again, because if I could do that without trying, how much more could I lose if I worked on it? Yeah, that way lies lots and lots of madness.
It’s even worse when I really don’t have anything to BE depressed about. Well, not in my personal life. In the world at large? Hoo boy.
I want to write about Ferguson and Michael Brown, but there are so many POC who are doing it better than I ever could. I want to write about GamerGate, but it raises my blood pressure so much I nearly stroke out. There are a lot of things that I want to write about, but when I start, I just get overcome with, “Do I really want to be on the receiving end of tons of rape and death threats again? Do I really want to put up with dudes explaining to me that men only get violent with women because we deserve it,” or “Men aren’t that violent you lying whore, so shut up before I rape you to death.”
Yeah, this whole not posting real regular, has meant a serious drop off in the shitty comments you guys never see, that just fucking get to you after a while. But, someone’s got be the target, I guess, and if it isn’t me, it’s someone else.
Anyway, I’m starting to feel better, and actually WANT to do and say things now. We’ll see how long this lasts.
More later.
Polimicks 
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