A not so funny topic. Depression.

So I write comedic books that deal with people in traumatic situations. I also struggle with depression. I’ve never said this publically before so here it goes: My name is Ellyn Oaksmith and I struggle with depression. Clap. Clap. Clap. Most of the time I’m sickeningly high on life but there is always this dark side, which is funny, usuallly, to me.  

But sometimes this grey fog of lethargy and disinterest in life sneaks up on me for untold reasons. What normally gives me joy seems “eh.” Digging for meaning I try praying but my conviction is pathetic. I’m a cliche: a depressed writer. 

Oddly enough I don’t have enough energy for anxiety. Oh for the days when I worried about everything. It meant I cared.

True depression is a sinkhole into which reality cannot shine. Right now I am exhausted, leaving food in weird places, my memory is worse than ever, and I want to hibernate through summer. 

In my 20’s there was a serious deep dark pit of a depression which I dug myself out of through therapy (thank you mom and dad) and medication (thank you large drug companies.)

When I look at the facts of my life: great kids (albeit normal teenage drama/attitude) fabulous husband (who does heroic things to make the unfixable better) and great writing career I should be tap dancing and thanking my lucky stars. But I can’t.

What I can do is help other people  (Mark Twain said the best way to cheer youself up is to cheer up someone else) keep working out, eat well, don’t drink too much wine (a depressant) and drag my butt into a therapist’s or doctor’s office if the fog doesn’t lift.

Contrary to the cult of cheerfulness, it’s okay to be depressed. Unless of course you feel like harming yourself or someone else. In that case — go on red alert and get help.

So if you struggle with depression, take courage, watch comedy or read a funny book for distraction (I humbly suggest: Divine Moves or Adventures with Max and Louise ) and seek help if the fog doesn’t lift.