Depression is humiliating. It turns intelligent, kind people into zombies who can’t wash a dish or change their socks. It affects the ability to think clearly, to feel anything, to ascribe value to your children, your lifelong passions, your relative good fortune. It scoops out your normal healthy ability to cope with bad days and bad news, and replaces it with an unrecognizable sludge that finds no pleasure, no delight, no point in anything outside of bed. You alienate your friends because you can’t comport yourself socially, you risk your job because you can’t concentrate, you live in moderate squalor because you have no energy to stand up, let alone take out the garbage. You become pathetic and you know it. And you have no capacity to stop the downward plunge. You have no perspective, no emotional reserves, no faith that it will get better. So you feel guilty and ashamed of your inability to deal with life like a regular human, which exacerbates the depression and the isolation.
Depression is humiliating.
If you’ve never been depressed, thank your lucky stars and back off the folks who take a pill so they can make eye contact with the grocery store cashier. No one on earth would choose the nightmare of depression over an averagely turbulent normal life.
It’s not an incapacity to cope with day to day living in the modern world. It’s an incapacity to function. At all. If you and your loved ones have been spared, every blessing to you. If depression has taken root in you or your loved ones, every blessing to you, too.
Depression is humiliating.
No one chooses it. No one deserves it. It runs in families, it ruins families. You cannot imagine what it takes to feign normalcy, to show up to work, to make a dentist appointment, to pay bills, to walk your dog, to return library books on time, to keep enough toilet paper on hand, when you are exerting most of your capacity on trying not to kill yourself. Depression is real. Just because you’ve never had it doesn’t make it imaginary. Compassion is also real. And a depressed person may cling desperately to it until they are out of the woods and they may remember your compassion for the rest of their lives as a force greater than their depression. Have a heart. Judge not lest ye be judged.
OK, je vais essayer d’expliquer tout ça avec des mots simples : si quelqu’un fait caca sur mon bureau, le problème, ce n’est pas la taille de la crotte. Je ne vais pas dire : "Mmm, quelle taille peut bien faire cette crotte ? Vingt centimètres ? Vingt-cinq centimètres ? Oh, seulement sept centimètres ? Mais c’est comme si personne n’avait fait caca sur mon bureau, alors !"
Merci, John Oliver, de rappeler aux imbéciles qui s’écharpent sur la différence *exacte* de salaire entre hommes et femmes que le problème, c’est d’abord QU’UNE TELLE DIFFERENCE EXISTE.
Here are some basics on herd immunity, and here is some more technical research if you’re interested in the details!
If you’ve ever heard my rants about vaccination, you know it’s a major topic with me. Because hey, I’m one of these immunosuppressed people this comic talks about, so it’s a bit of a sensitive subject. (“Oh, I’m sorry, you don’t like getting vaccinated? I don’t like having three month long respiratory infections because you gave me the freaking flu, but I guess you don’t care about that”)
Essentially, Ellen and her wonderful character Katherine have just said it better than I ever could—and using Shaun of the Dead references, too!!! It’s all about herd immunity—getting vaccinated isn’t just about your own health, it’s about the health—and non-zombification—of the entire human race.
SO REBLOG THIS!! LIKE THIS!!! SPREAD IT LIKE WILDFIRE!!!!!
Which is precisely the reason why writing is so hard when one suffers from depression. How can you “start with a feeling” when you have none left?
This is no reason to give up, though. I personally do my best to practise the “zombie method” , which is : even if you feel dead inside, stand up and walk, f***er! And then, when a tiny feeling shows up, I’m ready to charge.