About a year ago, I sat in bed and cried into my bong while I sang Adele, and asked myself what the hell is wrong with me. If that sounds pathetic, it’s because it was. I was in an extremely bad place; so much so that if I didn’t find my way out of it, it was going to start affecting my life, marriage, and overall health. I decided then that there would be no more unexplained crying into my bong allowed, and that it’s time I get serious about attempting therapy. I understand most of what’s wrong with me, I just need some pointers on coping with it.
I’m not dead. Promise.
Woody Allen says, “If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans.” We all have the best laid plans, but they don’t always work out the way that we intended. You may have noticed, but there has been a bit of a halt in our Bash because I’ve had a few issues surface.
My depression began when I was nine years old after a series of traumatic events. I had always been a happy child who loved people, but everything seemed to change that year. I cried, I was sad, and I hung my head when I walked. I felt the change, and my parents saw it too. Depression started young for me, and while it comes and goes and mutates itself in hundreds of ways, I know it will probably always be a part of my life.
Ophelia’s First Anniversary Bash Word Search!
I just don’t recommend leaving it at your work printer for very long, because bills.