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Universal Lacking
I wanted to dress this nonsense up in a sort of semi-detached and metaphorical prose, but it just is not working and I’m sick of writing poetry about myself.
Deal with it, internet.
I’ve realized that I’m going to spend a vast majority of life dealing with depression. It’s always going to be looming just over my shoulder, though I will be able to help myself cope with it through medication, therapy; whatever. I’m glad to know that, now. I’m happy to have found a medication that is doing something right for me - it is literally the only positive step I’ve taken in dealing with the problem since I first realized it was even there.
But the feelings keep changing me as I get older, and I don’t know how to control that. I’ve been told in the past that my personality has been “deadened” over time, either by certain, specific events or just by way of spiritual erosion. I really couldn’t tell you, because at that point I hadn’t really thought about it. I was still just me, not trying to project anything outwardly. I was always unhappy about something and over the course of my life, I have done my best to try to keep it to myself and to try to overcome it gradually. Thankfully, I have led a good life, full of good people and good experiences, along with all of the usual lows that life has and will present to every person that has ever and will ever draw breath.
Despite knowing that, and repeating it to myself silently at least once or twice a week for the past four years or so, I still cannot seem to find contentment in life. There’s always something missing. I’ll never know what, as the absence of it still lingers even when I’m in a happy relationship.
At this point, I have to assume that it is simply my “condition”, or however you wish to refer to it, influencing me. It doesn’t seem right or even logical to me, but isn’t that what the Depression wants me to believe?
Anyway, at this point, you all must have assumed that my Depression leaves a very distinct psychic-odor about my person: one that women are able to pick up on and trace for up to six square miles. This psychic stink constantly sounds AND smells like an aging homeless man screaming in Pig-Latin. As all women are only psychically-empowered by the effects of any and all intoxicants, this unfortunate effect is amplified at bars, parties, concerts, etc.
This is the only logical conclusion, as there is a universal lacking within me that all women are able to instantly recognize. It is an exchange that requires no words and no interaction - attempting to connect with another human being actually provokes the effect and makes it more potent.
God willing, moving forward, I WILL discover a cure for this psychic-stink (a psychic antiperspirant?). Either that, or I will plan to remove the part of the female mind that is able to sense my unhappiness, en mass.
With lasers.
