if you call a girl barbecute chances are she’ll be your grillfriend
So I’m a literature major who never writes anything on her own, I have some stuff that I need to put somewhere, and I’m feeling inspired by Allie Brosh’s amazingly candid "Adventures in Depression" piece on Hyperbole and a Half. Sadly, this post will not be nearly as entertaining or colorful as Allie’s, and maybe less than a millionth of the people who read her posts will even acknowledge this. But why am I apologizing about it, anyway? This post is going to be very self-centered and I’m going to say “I” and “me” a lot but let’s face it that’s what I know best and aren’t blogs supposed to be all about you?
I’m going to start off by saying I’m not depressed. For everything I would change, I also have a ton of things going right in my life. It’s more of a feeling of hopelessness. Every time I get upset about something, I tell myself to just wait it out, because I have a lot to look forward to. And that is surprisingly comforting. But then I think about the things I look forward to. When I’m actually experiencing whatever it is I’ve been waiting for, I just want it to end so I can go home and do nothing again. Leading to the thought why bother doing anything? As incredibly sigh-inducing and overly typical this question is, at has been haunting me endlessly for at least a year. I am excited for nothing, ever, because in the end I’m going to die and who even cares. This has caused my motivation to do most things to dwindle, and as much as I try to “live it up” and become cultured and accomplish things in my short life, I end up sitting down and spacing out and taking my 3rd sadness nap of the day. It’s frustrating to know that no matter what you do, you’re going to have the same outcome. This realization hasn’t made me overly introverted or depressing to be around, but my likelihood to not actually listen to anything anyone says and just “yes” them to death has escalated.