You have so much to be happy about

This is hard for me to write because writing it down means it actually exists, and that I am admitting to faults. That I am "broken" or "damaged goods" or just plain not really there.

It comes in waves. There are days when everything feels fine. I am happy, I am laughing, I am making the jokes that are making other people laugh. And then there are the days when I am the center of attention, I am laughing, I am smiling, I am making the jokes that make people laugh...and I go home empty.

There are days when, for no reason, I cannot fathom getting out of bed. I lie there in the dark until the last possible minute, drag myself into jeans and a t shirt, brush my teeth, paste on a smile, and head to work.

I throw myself into work, into hobbies, into second jobs, so that I won't feel the nagging feeling. On some days, everything feels empty, and I feel guilty for feeling that way.

Sure, I've got my fair share of baggage. The alcoholic mother. The divorced parents. The abusive three year long relationship. But that's all situational. I also have extreme forces of positivity in my life. I have beautiful friends and amazing family. I have an education. I'm a musician. Though I'm an amateur, I've recently discovered I have the capacity to make people laugh.

There are so many things in my life that I should be happy about. That I am happy about.

Is it possible to be happy at the same time you're depressed? I consider myself an intelligent person, but I can't wrap my head around this idea. I am comfortable with facts, data, science (despite outward appearances and me generally being an emotional hot mess express). Logically I can see and identify all of the things in my life that I should be happy about. But I don't feel it. Emotionally, I am not there. Am I emotionally stunted? Is there something wrong with me? Is it fixable? Is this the reason I can't connect? Can't date? Keep everyone at a distance...substituting physicality for emotional connection?

The first time I had a panic attack, I was in my mother's bed while she was out with her boyfriend. It sounds stupid, but it was triggered by my sudden realization of mortality. I was twelve years old, and I recognized that my heart beat was indicative of my actually being alive. Without that, I would cease to exist. My thoughts, my existence, were tied to that thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump. I focused. I felt like my heart was out of control, like my chest was on fire, and suddenly I couldn't breathe. My grandmother talked me down, my heart beat slowed, and I fell asleep.

The first time I thought about suicide, I was twelve years old. The first time I self harmed, I was twelve. I was on medication that, instead of "curing" me, made it so I couldn't feel anything. So I self harmed. My mom found out from the school guidance counselor, and said "do you have any idea how this is going to reflect on me?"

My whole life, I've been taught that I should be ashamed for feeling this way. The very word "depression" is a dirty word. A word that we can easily cast off and make smaller than it actually is.

I don't self harm anymore. I'm not medicated. I drink too much. I change my hair every couple of weeks. When I feel an anxiety attack coming on, I breathe my way through it. I am not broken. I am doing pretty well. I have a good job, I went to college.

I shouldn't feel so empty.

I shouldn't feel ashamed that sometimes, for no reason....a lot of the time, for no reason...I simply can't fathom existing in the world anymore. I don't want to see people. I don't want to talk to people. I just want to drink and sleep and forget that I exist. I want people to forget that I exist.

But I fake it because I was told that is what you do when you're an adult. I don't talk about depression. If you're depressed, you just have to dust yourself off and get up. If you're depressed, shit, take a pill for that. Carry on. Move on. Grow up. Stop being such a baby.

You have so much to be happy about.
But you seem so happy.
Just think positive.
How can you be depressed? You're always out with people.
If you were really depressed, you'd be on medication.

I'm writing this because I feel like I need to...because I'm sick of being the intelligent strong person who doesn't need to talk. Because you can be surrounded by people who love you and still feel alone, worthless, and empty. Because sometimes, often, despite outward appearances, I am not okay. And I need that to be okay.

I need to be able to admit that I'm laughing because I have to. Because pretending that when I go home alone after work or a night of drinking that I am perfectly okay is exhausting. Because being exhausted is exhausting. And I really just want a little bit of understanding.

I am not crazy. I'm just....trying. Struggling. I am happy. But I am not all here.

And that's all I have to say about that.