If you need a reason to like life, join the club. Because, as I’m sure you have figured out, considering you’re reading this, meaning you would need to be old enough to use a computer, it’s a big, stupid, mean, nonsensical world out there.
So here we are in our clubhouse. We don’t have a golf course, or a pool, or cabana boys, and we’re not even really a club, but you should join us anyway. Because everyone alive is a member. So I think it means you’re dead otherwise.
If you don’t have a reason to like this place, it’s damn near impossible to like anything at all.
Now I know you’re thinking to yourself in your dark bedroom, Hawthorne Heights screaming into your headphones:
This bitch? She doesn’t know me! She doesn’t know my PAIN! I’m SO MISUNDERSTOOODDDDDD!
Well, sir or madame, or gender confused being, dog, cat, alcoholic, mysterious Russian Spy preferably named Svetlana or Nikkola…
I got it, I get it, and I had a breakdown in my mother’s car while selling cakes to people that don’t want them over it today.
I am…was? are….? Not sure, really… Clinically depressed. I am medicated, more than I would like to be, might I add. And I am still figuring out, like, everything. I’m a clusterfuck mess.
But I know.
Terribly personal, and frankly morbid as it may sound, I’ve often thought that my crash-landing via gyrating sexual organs to this strange and confusing planet “Earth”, was a simple, and irreparable mistake.
Suicide? Contemplated it, sure. More than once even. But it’s pathetic. Sorry, but it is.
Why? Because I have had multiple people, close and not so much, that have been unable to realize things that I have had the good fortune to discover through my shit. They didn’t see what I see, and they didn’t know how to get outside of themselves.
It’s not their fault, as sad it is. I know how tormenting being stuck in a set of blinders really is.
For those that have been biologically blessed with normal levels of serotonin in their brains, allow me to express my best interpretation of what it means to be clinically depressed.
For me, I am in winter when everyone around me is in summer. And I hate winter, for whatever reason. It brings bad, bad, and more bad. Especially at Christmas, ironic as it sounds. I’m in a bubble that’s super duper cold and snowy and cloudy and dark. But I can see outside and it’s warm and sunny. All my friends are swimming and getting tan and falling in love.
I sit in my snow globe.
It’s the most barren, blank thing you can imagine. It’s a big, and white, or black, bland, or blurry, or just nothing. Sure it’s a lot of sad emotions that you can put a label on. But those are symptoms. The worst, the absolute worst part is the nothing part. The part that, God knows why, people can’t see. That’s the part all that hurt comes from.
The worst part of being you is the part you can’t define. Because that’s what it is. Depression is an absolute piece of who you are. And you can’t say for sure what it is. Or at least I can’t.
Think about that. You can’t fix something you can’t really see or understand, can you? No.
And that’s what a lot of people don’t get. They don’t understand why people like me can’t change what’s wrong and move on. It’s just not that simple. And I would never blame anyone, not in a million years, for not understanding. Because that means they have something beautiful doesn’t come so easily to me. Not without therapy and medication, definitely a lot of tears.
How could I wish for someone to be the way I am? I can’t. As malicious and hateful as I know I have come across before, I would never wish for anyone to be the way I am.
But I am thankful.
I’ve learned things from my undefined, gray, solid blob of pain that sits in my gut like a rock sometimes.
Most of all, I’ve learned that beautiful statues, art, figures, whatever, come from misshapen, jagged rocks.
I’ve learned that you can transform anything into almost anything else.
So if you can’t, here’s my attempt to make you a happier human.
I’m not encouraging alcoholism. But it’s fucking delicious and one or two glasses won’t hurt your sad little face. Drink up, cheeky bitches.
Google cats, love your life. Smple.
Everyone has friends, even if they don’t realize it. If you don’t, work on it. It might be your weakness. If it is, overcome it. Find someone who gives a shit. That’s all you need. There are good people with good hearts in the world, as hard as it is to see. If no one else seems to care, fuck them. Because I will.
4. Singing in the shower
Make yourself. You won’t stop. I guarantee. Get into it. Striptease, air guitar, Harry Potter, Soap Mohawk, dance? I don’t know. Do your thing.
5. The beach
I don’t care if you think I’m a Tumblr whore for saying it. You can’t be sad on the beach. Unless there’s a hurricane. But that’s a whole different set of issues. Prioritizing is key. Find a jet ski if you can. That’s like adding lube to sex.
6. Nothing Bundt Cakes
Originated in Las Vegas, made it’s slutty way to…everywhere. Nom some bundtinies, love your life. Then thank me for it.
It’s a loose interpretation. I know people suck sometimes, even if they gave birth to you or are related to you (doesn’t apply to me personally, but pretty much my entire group of friends). Family doesn’t mean blood. This is related to friends, of course. But I firmly believe that every human is capable of love, and therefore capable of having a variation of family. This one is important, though. If you don’t rely on yours, you pick an alternative one. When you pick an alternative one, you have to trust the ever-living shit out of them. It’s hard. And you might get fucked over. But people aren’t the same. Don’t give up. You’ll find your family if you weren’t born into a great one. And if you were, don’t you ever fucking take them for granted. In fact, smile if your parents are even still together and love you. It’s rare. But find your devoted, they are out there.
8. The Great Gatsby, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Harry Potter
The favorites. The greatest. The Great Gatsby, though not the most uplifting, beautiful. The Perks of Being a Wallflower, if you’re sad, you’ll love it. And have probably already read it. But if you haven’t, trust me. Harry Potter, don’t really need to explain the sort of genius that is madame J.K. Rowling. But if you aren’t aware of her absolute masterpiece series, or simply don’t care……..get off my blog.
I’m just kidding. Sort of. But the world she created, in that beautiful, absolutely wonderful mind of hers, should cheer you right up, poppit.
9. Sir James Franco/Master Heath Ledger
I don’t care if you’re a dude. Tell me they aren’t sexy and I’ll know you’re lying. Even if the redeeming qualities aren’t looks, they’re great actors. Heath Ledger, RIP. Also I’d like to add Johnny Depp. Fuck yeah. Oh, fuck yeah. He’s a motherfucking badass. He’s so awesome, not to mention hipster, that only the awesome ones who care enough to read this whole rambling thing get to know that little happiness tidbit. So HA!
10. The Beatles
Fuck you if you’re ignorant enough to be unaware. (There are exceptions, but not many. I just don’t want to make judgments, OK?)
Not so much the movie, (though you are an idiot if you don’t like it) but the Rusted Root song, “Send Me On My Way” I was introduced to because of it. Take a listen, you can’t be sad when you hear it.