Dear Internet 1: Confession Time

Dear Internet,

I’ve never written a blog before. I couldn’t think of any better title for it, and I assume it’s been used thousands of times by other people. I think I may change it at some point, for originality’s sake. I wonder how many people who have used this title have changed it in the past to something “more original?” Would I be more or less original for changing my title? Maybe I’ll leave it as an accidentally adopted irony. Now I sound like an avant-garde douchebag. Is hipster the more lawyeristic phrasing of that? 

Well, this is a bad start. Maybe I should just delete this and start over… I guess I’ll keep it till the whole avant-garde thing sets in and makes me feel gross. That’s how most things in life eventually change, right? I mean, that’s how it goes for me. Brought up in a racist family, making me racist, till I picked up a fucking history book and then felt gross. Being raised by an alcoholic father—well, really the whole shitty family—turning me into an alcoholic till I got a relationship of my own for a while, then that went bad (due to the drinking), and so drinking made me feel gross. I kicked a puppy once, and felt instant grossocity. Guilt would be a better word, wouldn’t it? Fuck it, I like making words up. So anyway, I guess that’s what this blog is all about. Learning from grossocity. 

Confession time. I know I don’t know anyone who would read this (and why would they? And that’s sorta the point.), but this is about to get heavy. I’ll try and keep it light and airy, like those muffins your grandmother used to make… before she died. Shit. Not working. Okay, so I’ve been seeing a therapist for the past month. First session, got diagnosed with ADD—go figure. Second session, got diagnosed with major depressive disorder and generalized anxiety disorder—duh. Third session, no diagnosis, a lot of chit-chat. Mostly about how my grandmother died of Alzheimer’s. Fourth session, I admitted to having suicidal tendencies. Cutting, drinking way too much, dialing the suicide prevention hotline (1-800-273-8255) every once in a while, only to back out last minute and pass out. 

My therapist’s response kinda shocked me, though. He told me, “Don’t do it now. Give it some time, try to learn as much as you can, talk with people about your problems, and then reassess how you feel.” I’m a little conflicted about this approach. Like, shouldn’t he have just said no? “No don’t,” or “think of your family,” or “here’s a pill,” or my personal favorite, “don’t be a dumbass. Offing yourself is the coward’s route.” My daddy told me that one. And no, I’m not mocking anti-depressants either. I’ve heard they can help out a lot, or give you suicidal tendencies… well, I already have those so what the hell? Is it going to give my suicidal tendencies suicidal tendencies? Dammit Janet, that just might be crazy enough to work! 

But at the same time, that seems like pretty down-to-earth advice. I mean, he’s not painting a rainbows and sunshine picture for me to feel more secure. Life is shitty for most everyone in some way, right? Here’s some scenarios: 

Scenario number one

Doc- “No, don’t.”

Me- “Why not?”

Doc- “Because the world is great! There are so many things to do and places to see!”

Me- “Um, no the world sucks, and doing things and going places costs money. And so do you, by the way.”

Scenario number two

Doc- “Think of your family. Losing you would have a devastating impact on them.”

Me- “First off, my family is a bunch of drunken a-holes, and second off, shouldn’t they be thinking of my wellbeing, how I feel right now instead of themselves and how they feel about my depression? Kinda selfish of them. I don’t fall for guilt trips.”

Scenario number three

Doc- “Here’s a pill.”

Me- “Isn’t one of the side-effects of this to give me suicidal tendencies?”

Doc- “You already got that, right?”

Me- “Yeah…”

Doc- “…”

Me- “…”

Doc- “And anyway, if you start feeling worse, tell me and tell your doctor. We can change the dose if need be or, switch you to a different pill, depending on how you react to this one.”

Me “…Well played.”

Scenario number four

Dad- “Only cowards kill themselves. It’s the easy way out. A man has to learn to fight it.”

Me- (Pulls out machete, slices off one of Dad’s legs.) “Oh no, you can’t go to the hospital; you got to be a man and fight it. Only cowards use a wheelchair.” 

Check back each Wednesday for the next nine weeks for the latest in Mark Shelley's Dear Internet series.