A few months ago I googled “funny books” because I felt a need for a laugh. I came across “Furiously Funny” and I decided to give it a go especially because it tackled depression. Having gone though it myself I thought it would be a great experience to see how the author managed to use humour through this gloomy emotional state.
And it was hilarious. I must say. I even recommended it to my friends who I knew also had gone through depression.
But then I got into a rather boycotting mode. Angry even. No, why on earth should I try to take distance to my own mental illness, find something funny in it as a sort of coping mechanism or to pretend that I am coping.
Then I googled “funny books about depression” and all the searches showed lists of titles whose authors were mostly women (Goodreads).
We really try our best to put our best face forward, we women, aren’t we…
I became very negative about this phenomenon. It is a problem that one laughs at their own mental disorder. What has it come to? Because it’s still so unknown, untouched, misunderstood, we try to grab any safety wheel to swim on the surface and being funny about it became a trend a sort of dilusionist gimmick that is supposed to help us survive.
Laugh is the best medicine (I realised it helps with migraines) but ridiculing your own illness is not. What’s needed is a fully fledged support mechanism, science,
I say NO.
For the past few months, for a reason I can’t reveal yet I have switched myself of social media life. After a long period of constant posting, instagraming, commenting and promoting I suddenly became inexistent. My mind, in its own world, hasn’t been craving the pleasure from being seen, liked, or shared. And it felt good in a sense because I know deep down that I will return to this reality at some point soon. I will return but changed, somehow social media evolved. When you stand by as an observer you learn a lot and the point of view transforms. So let’s just wait and see how. And comment then.
However, while I existed not on the virtual platform I also disappeared from interpersonal social life. And that my readers, although fully and entirely my choice (mostly due to the reason I adore mentioned and which I can not yet mention) – has felt lonely. Loneliness that’s what I have been surrounded with. Cold, isolated, scary existence, without myself or people around.
I truly hope this will end shortly because I can’t live without people.
Thank you life for letting me be a mother. An experience which I yearned to feel since I was a little girl. An experience which I wrongly thought would be a given and journey to which turned out to be a horrible struggle.
Every day I think of all those who haven’t been given the chance yet and I pray to you: Let them!
The unfulfilled need to be a mother is worse than hunger, sleeplessness or any other torture known on earth.