Yesterday I went to the doctor's office. I have been vomiting periodically over the course of the last month. We went to find out why. After discussing symptoms the doctor started asking me personal questions, and my dad started to answer for me. The doctor asked him to leave the room, and continued to ask me personal questions. He diagnosed me as clinically depressed. I dismissed it immediately, but played along. He wants me to come back in for another visit next week. I don't want to go.
I told my dad what the doctor thought. He accused me of putting on a show. While I agree I can be over dramatic, I did only tell the truth to the doctor. I didn't try and get him to sympathize with me, he just decided that I had some problems that needed counseling and medication. I still disagree with that, especially the medication. But ever since hearing him say that to me, I've begun to wonder if I am actually depressed.
As far as I know, depression doesn't run in my family, and I hardly have a hard home life. I have plenty of friends, although I'm not entirely open with them. I try not to be open with anyone, because I'm afraid that I'll sound whiny and selfish. Because complaining about your life does tend to be very whiny, and very selfish.
I decided to look up the symptoms for depression on my own. I'm starting to see where my doctor got the idea. All of the symptoms seem to be things he had me describe. I really don't know anymore. I can be happy, and from time to time I find plenty of joy in my life. Right now though, I do feel empty, and sad. I haven't been able to sleep properly since I can remember, and I'm almost constantly in a state of fatigue. If I'm walking down the street and a car passes by, I feel the urge to jump in front of it, and wonder if anyone would care if I did. More recently though I've considered taking a knife to my chest.
I feel like I'm giving you the wrong idea here. Just to clarify, I have had some thoughts of suicide slip by my mind, but I've never taken them seriously. In fact, while the knife thing comes up, I immediately dismiss it as a horrible idea. I've never been a cutter, and I've never harmed myself to take away from my problems. There is no plan to start doing so. But it has become a concern of mine, and there have been times in the past where I've considered getting counseling. I've just been too afraid to actually ask for help from somebody qualified.
I really don't know what to do right now, but I have a week to decide. There isn't really a conclusion to this post. There is no brilliant revelation, because I still don't know whether I am actually depressed, or I'm just being a drama king. I just thought that writing something might make me feel better. It sort of did. So thanks for reading.
Bye, because I'm not in the mood for a pun.
-Nathaniel.
