Here are two things that most people don’t know about me:
First, I can tap dance. Actually I’m not that good at it; although, I can “Shuffle off to Buffalo” like a motherfucker.
Second, I suffer from depression. I know, me and half of the people on the planet, right? Boring. That’s why I don’t talk about it. Nobody cares. I don’t even care, which, I believe, is a symptom of depression.
I don’t know that for sure because I didn’t go to medical school. However, I did learn a thing or two during my year and a half of junior college, which I went to on a dance scholarship—hence the tap dancing.
At least I’m not one of those depressed people who are on medication. Good grief! Those people with their meds and the side effects like the spinal overgrowth and the bloody discharge. Nice. That’s who you want at your party.
Here’s an idea: instead of screwing up your body with crazy chemicals, how about dealing with it the old fashioned way, like I do? Try staying in bed for three days while you ponder killing yourself, knowing you can’t because God will get mad at you and it will make your mom cry.
So you lay there in the dark with the covers over your head, just you and your own stink (because you haven’t showered in seventy-two hours), hoping someone will break in and end it for you.
And then one day, you just wake up and feel normal again. The sun will be shining, the birds will be singing, and you’ll think, “Man, I could fuck up a cheeseburger right about now.”
And then…life goes on.