Something About Change

The world would not believe that I hate social interactions. People make me uncomfortable. My major issue is that the more uncomfortable I become, the funnier I get. Most of my jokes in public aren’t quick attempts to get a few laughs; they’re my mind’s defense against saying, “Hey, this is making me uncomfortable.”

To make things worse, I’m a creature of habit. I go to the same places around the same time and see the same people. To them, it’s like, here comes my funny friend, and for me, it’s hoping I could cast an invisibility spell and go about my business without anybody seeing me.

The kicker is the energy I spend trying to keep my cool. I love my friends. They always invite me places, knowing I won’t show up, but they never make me feel bad about it. Acquaintances often get offended; they think I’m good in all social situations. I need about two hours of recovery every hour I’m out socializing. So, ask me to go out to dinner, and it’s a wrap for the next day.

I know most of you are thinking, idiot, that’s anxiety, that’s not depression. But, in reality, my anxiety is a symptom of my depression. Social things drain me because every joke I tell is truly to hide an unfulfilled void of mine. 

Today was especially tough. I wanted to reach out to somebody to help me out of this rut, but most people see how I present and think, “Oh, he’s just having a moment. He will be alright soon.” The truth is, I have been in a severe depressive mode for months now. But today was extra challenging. Today, no matter what, I couldn’t see the light. Today, I felt hopeless.

This post is not a cry for help; I’m sharing my thoughts that the funny, good-spirited person you know might be fighting some demons you don’t understand. Today, I sat in silence, cried until there were no more tears, and lay in the darkness because that was the only place I felt comfort. 

Today, my only hope is that my words will help somebody understand their depressed, funny friend. I don’t know when this feeling will lift off me; I hate that this feeling that I have is becoming routine for me. I don’t know what it will take to make me smile, genuinely laugh, or leave this dark place.

I wish I had a reason to feel like this besides “it’s just how my mind operates.” For now, the only hope I have is, please, “Lord, when I wake up tomorrow, don’t let me feel like this, but if you are thinking of giving this feeling to somebody who is at the end of their rope, let me carry it, if it means they will get to see another day.”