Color Me Bad as Hell

"Stronger" by Kanye West

...i know i got to be right now / cuz i can't get much wronger...

I'm following a young lady's blog. She's Black, she's a woman, and she's a lesbian, my three favorite minority statuses.

But she is remarkably brilliant, open-minded, and eloquent. I of course do not know this young lady, but her blog reveals her to be the aforementioned adjectives.

I just read an entry about her depression and her embarking on therapy. She is kind of upset about being in therapy, which I think is an interesting thing about people in therapy. I remember that I knew I needed (and currently need) to be in it but there is something shameful, disheartening, and annoying about being in therapy.

Especially when you are smart and understand psychology, you feel as though you should be able to treat yourself, handle yourself. It can be demoralizing. I am aware of the life circumstances and history that make me who I am, I am aware of who I am in a way that I don't think most people are, and I know what I need to do and the thinking that I need to change/implement.

However, I am unable to make the connection between what is wrong and how to rectify it. Emotions, especially those of childhood that have been allowed to develop just as one has physically, and those of resentment and anger, do not give a damn about intellect. I try to give myself therapy, but I don't listen.

That is the magic of therapy. There is a professionally trained person objective enough to make you aware of the reality you choose to deny by remaining "sick", burdened, guilted or whatever emotion you punish yourself with.

Anyway, after I read her entry, I realized that I say nothing about my depression, although if one reads these blogs in their entirety, it is painfully obvious. But I don't think I have ever said "I have depression". I just tell my blog how pointless I think life is.

Well I have depression. And I don't want to be ashamed of it. A lot of unfortunate things happened to me and I made a lot of bad decisions for my life. But I am/was just living my life like everyone else was doing. These (take a look at my current life) are the results. There are no directions to living. Each person does what they want, what they know. I ended up with depression (although I am genetically predisposed to depression because there are a gang of people who seem to suffer from depression in this African family).

I even cried today over the frustration I feel about my life, although the thunderstorm outside made me quite vulnerable to my own dormant sadness (not even that dormant).

I say all that to say this: I am not ashamed. I couldn't really help it but I can help myself out of it. I have been telling my depressed friends and family (a bunch of us are heading to therapy, need therapy, or in therapy in my circle right now) that they deserve to be happy. I may even believe that I deserve to be happy.

I will go back to therapy soon and I will unabashedly describe my thoughts and progress.