The Sith Lord with Impeccably Shaved Legs
A Narrative on Depression and Anxiety
Depression is like that old friend that has never left my house, is eating all my food, and refuses to contribute to maintaining the upkeep of this vessel we both share (such as showering). But, that old friend has been around so long, would I know how to live life without him? I mean, I don’t really remember the times before he showed up, it’s been so long ago. I see other people around, extremely happy and content with their life, and, sometimes, I’ll say to myself, “Wow, was my life ever like that? Was I ever so content that I smiled without force? I certainly don’t remember it being that way,” but then, I’ll stop myself and think, “Is it a lot of work being that happy? It must be! I don’t have the energy for that. And what would I do if I wasn’t constantly battling the darker forces of my mind? I mean, if you think about it, I’m kind of like a Jedi on the edge of becoming a Sith Lord! Isn’t that much cooler?” And when I think these things, I know my old pal, Depression, is scared I’ve grown tired of him living rent-free in my head this long.
Depression is also fond of saying things like, “Why are we even trying when you know we aren’t going to succeed?” And “Would showering make us happy today? Of course not! That’s too much work!” So, we lay in bed, watching funny videos on YouTube that do nothing to improve anything about the situation, and staying up late because sleep is for people who need it (and, apparently, I don’t).
Anxiety is Depression’s cousin who comes over (uninvited, I might add) and proceeds to try and straighten the mess Depression has left behind, but berates me for it. But not for my benefit, for the benefit of how I am viewed by others walking around outside. Thanks to Anxiety, I have finally showered, but she has also made me shave my legs too, even though it’s winter and I’m going to wear pants. “But,” she tells me, “you never know, the colder weather may suddenly end and you’ll have hairy legs and we will never be fit to be seen in public again. Everyone will talk and laugh and point...” I’ll stop there because she tends to go on and on. But she also likes to say things like, “We CANNOT be late today! This is too important,” even though it’s not that important. And things like, “You see those people over there talking... they’re talking about you. And your clothes. Your hair is a mess too.” She gets nervous about small things, like routine doctor appointments. “This is just a checkup,” I’ll tell her. “Do you know how many people find out they have cancer at checkups?!” She shakes and wiggles and then so do I, and my knee does that weird thing where it goes up and down really fast, like a rabbit hopping after it has had too much caffeine. It’s almost like we are dancing to dark, foreboding music, only we can hear and it’s a dance no one else wants to do. Definitely not the cha-cha slide.
Between these two combating forces—one that cares too little, another that cares too much—you can probably imagine how interesting my life is. But, like my depression likes to constantly remind me, it’s hard work pushing out freeloaders, and with our powers combined, I am one normal girl, turned Sith Lord, who has impeccably shaved legs (even in the winter).
Without them, I don’t think I would have been molded into who I am today, and despite all I have said here, I’m proud of the girl I am today. This girl has a college degree (though I’m a C average student), and I have a beautiful daughter who adores me. So, despite the freeloaders and their crazy cousin, I’m doing just fine.
Until next time, I’ve got to go shave my legs.