Just another part of my honesty phase (I know...it's getting old)

I've been depressed for a long time. Wait...no...I was depressed for a long time. I hated school in High School. The socialness of it, the cliquiness, the snottiness--hated it (I did have some good friends though). Then I went to college and lived with Matt my swimming buddy in good ol' Russel Hall at UGA, but alas, I couldn't stand that either. Looking back on it now (and after reading up on depression for the last few years), I've realized how terribly negative I was in my youth. I was negative about the world but especially about myself. It seemed like I couldn't get anything right. I got through the depression over time (all it took was a diagnosis of Brain Cancer and a forced positive attitude...just those two small things).

Eventually, I graduated from college and decided that I needed to see a place that exemplified what I'd been studying in college (Anthropology and Religion). Thailand and other parts of Southeast Asia had just gotten wiped out by a major tidal wave (Dec. 2004), so I decided to go to Thailand for 6 weeks. After I returned (a bit thin and distraught), I moved up to Philly (not knowing a thing about the city) for grad school (but really to play in a band. Grad school was just what I decided to tell the 'accomplished' folks who asked). Unfortunately, four years later I was just depressed as ever. Nothing had changed.


What happened was that during college I hid it more and more from my friends, but more importantly, I was hiding it from myself. I knew it back in 7th and 8th grade but over time it seemed like it slowly faded from existence itself. Looking back on it later on, I rationalized it that it was just a perfect example of the terror and horror of growing up in East Cobb. I was wrong though.

In the last two years (since I've been diagnosed), I slowly began to wake up to my state of mind. You see I had to think positively. There was absolutely no other way around it. Eventually thinking positively actually took hold of me; that's when I really began to notice what had become of my old state of mind. 

What initially began to wake me up was an article that I read about depression. Essentially the article says that clinically depressed people don't express any of their ideas for what they want to accomplish in their lives because they don't enjoy anything. Apparently enjoyment precedes the discovery of what a person is good at and the desire to do something with one's life. If you don't enjoy anything, you can't possibly know what you're good at. The article goes on to say that depression causes the victim to lose a sense of what being happy even is. Clinically depressed people eventually forget what happiness feels like; they lose the sense of its meaning. After reading this, I began to wonder if maybe that's why I tried all those different hobbies and jobs. I just didn't have any sense of what I wanted to do with my life. To this day, I still notice myself wondering if people are walking around 'happy' or 'satisfied' or if they're just walking around as miserable as I was.

Now I know what being happy and satisfied actually is--it just took a brain tumor and a positive attitude, that's all. Now I know you're wondering why I'm going into this this extended diatribe about my depression (wah wah, I know). It's because now I have an excuse for going back to Philly (besides the fact that I have tons of great friends up there and a band to boot). This may sound cheesy, but I mean to start Philly over again, to start living over again. 

Thanks for reading.