So, I’m depressed. For real. I’m sorry.

(If you’re not into touchy-feely blog posts, you should probably make your exit now. This is gonna echo my 14 year old Diaryland shit something fierce. Aw guys remember Diaryland? Anyways, I also feel the need to preface this with a few things; 1 – this is a fucking long post. 2 – this isn’t one of those 12 year old cries for attention, so please don’t take it that way. I just need to share some stuff. With the internet. Healthy, right?)

Over a week and not a blog post. What a loser. What a dumb dumb loser face. How can I call myself a writer when I don’t write anything?

Depression is a weird thing, guys. I know it’s a loaded word and it shouldn’t be used lightly, and that’s not my intention…but there’s really no other way to describe it, unless we use “black hole of emptiness but somehow still feeling full and gunky and shitty but still so lonely”. BHOEBSSFFAGASBSSL is harder to type than ‘depression’, so I’m gonna stick with it.

Look, I’m not crazy depressed; I don’t want to cut myself, I don’t need pills, I don’t think I’m all alone and NO1 UNDERSTANDZ MY PAIN. I know better than that. I’m smart, informed, I socialize and laugh and an optimist.

I’m a fucking optimist, guys.

I’ve always been an optimist and I’ve always gotten down in the dumps. A couple weeks a year (usually nearing the end of winter) I’d be all “wah wah wah I’m sad”, but then I’d snap out of it. Boom. Easy. Depression over let’s laugh again FLOWERS! But this last time has been different. So different, in fact, that I’m sure people have noticed (sorry guys) and it kicked me across the world.

I’m pretty sure this whole thing started about a 1 ½ – 2 years ago. I don’t know why or how, but all of a sudden I just stopped caring. I stopped exercising and started eating like a fucking maniac. I experienced my first panic attack and thought I was going to die until a few amazing co-workers helped me. I gained at least 25lbs in like six months and was so concerned I went to the doctor about it because I had no fucking clue why (realtalk: I was CONVINCED I was in some “I didn’t know I was pregnant” scenario and was like eight months along. I’ll tell you all about it if you want to know. Needless to say my roommate thought I was fucking nuts.) … (fuck where was I?)  So I went to the doctor and she was like “bitch, stop eating Doritos” but much nicer and I figured she was wrong and the blood tests were wrong and I was some sort of Re-Virginized Mary carrying the next Spaghetti Monster or something.

…..anyways

So then I realize that I don’t even want to hang out with my friends anymore. Legit, I would have rather watched Time Team* for like six hours online than hang out with people. And hey Jenny, how are the comedy skits going? What comedy skits? I wasn’t telling jokes. I didn’t give two shits about anything. For the first time in my life, I had no drive to create or perform. I wanted to be noticed for my talent, yes, but I honestly thought it would just get handed to me while I sat free-boobin’ it in the living room. I would hang out at home being unhappy that I wasn’t onstage, then all of a sudden I’d get a flash of “I need to do something creative” and would (literally) break out crayons and draw a picture, or make a film of my cat. Guys, for the first time since I was two years old, I didn’t give two shits about being on stage.

I’d often get flashes of inspiration and motivation. “I’M GONNA GO TO EUROPE!” I’d say, then I’d take off for three weeks and have a great time…and then come back and not remember half of it because, honestly, my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t want to talk about it to anyone because they thought I was living da life when, in reality, I had a nice trip but still had those shitty problems in my brain.

All the while this was going on I was still going out, still seeing friends, still laughing and loving life and all that stuff…I was just…empty. I know a lot of people suffer with depression, but I don’t. Not like this. This is weird and uncharacteristic and wrong.

It’s hard to describe, but I had no idea I was depressed. When you’re an optimist with a hundred friends, a busy social calendar, a good job, a nice haircut…I mean, hello, how is depression even an option? I wasn’t broke and heartbroken and trying to raise three kids and wanting to end my life. I was happy. But I was so unhappy too. It sounds so ridiculous.

So I make light of the fact that the reason I’m traveling now is because I had “one of those life breakdowns”, but realtalk: it’s entirely true. I hit rock bottom. I hit fucking molten lava bottom. I spent an entire Saturday in bed crying, throwing up, unable to beathe, hyperventilating…not even Lola could make me feel better, as hard as she tried**. Guys, my friend was so worried about me she rented a fucking car to come pick me up and take me to her house. Honestly, I have never had a more messed up day in my life, and that includes the time I tried marijuana once.

That was the day I decided I was going to go toMelbourne. I was going to run away and everything would straighten itself out. I’d have nothing but time to eat well, exercise, write and reflect. And hello, Australian men are cute when they aren’t chauvinists. It just felt right. I quit my job and five weeks later I was gone.

Turns out you can’t run from your inside problems.

It’s hard to describe this black hole inside of me. It’s weirdly empty but also really full of gunk. It’s like eating2amChinese food. My insides feel full of greasy lemon chicken that just can’t leave my intestines. Like I need to do some cleanse to just flush everything out, y’know? If I hadn’t had all those doctor tests last year, I would worry I had a tapeworm or something. I’m just really full inside, but it’s like this black gunky hole where everything kinda stopped. Blocked chakra or something, maybe?

I’m lazy. I’m fucking lazy, guys. For the first time in my life (though I’m sure my mother would say differently) I’m a lazy asshole. I’m too lazy to get off my ass and do some squats. I’m too lazy to write something half decent for my blog. I’m too lazy to work on my book. I’m too lazy to shower. I’m too lazy to shave my legs. I’m too lazy to actually commit to being this writer/comedian thing I’ve wanted to be fore my ENTIRE-since-I-was-2-years-old life. I’m too lazy to work on myself. I. Am. Lazy.

I’m not sure where I’m going with all this, but I think writing it out is helping. I’ve come to realize over the last few weeks that what I feel inside isn’t right, and hasn’t been for a couple years. Running away to the other side of the world didn’t solve my problems, but rather, is forcing me to face them. Here, I don’t have comforts of home to surround me when I’m upset, and I don’t have close friends I can talk to instantly and get feedback and advice. I am literally facing all of these things alone for the first time ever…and it fucking sucks! I mean, it’s good and I think it’s something I need to do on my own…but holy shit what the hell is going on with me? For someone who likes laughing and loves life and can find the most simple things beautiful, I’ve got a lot of “gunk” inside that needs straightening out, because it’s really holding me back from enjoying this amazing stuff I’m doing.

I look back at my time in Australia a few months ago and I’m upset with myself that I didn’t enjoy it more. I had a blast, sure, but I let myself stay in when I should have gone out because I felt like a shithole. I didn’t connect with people I was supposed to because I felt like a shithole. It’s like this black shithole of gunk took all the amazing zest and energy and love and adventure and sucked it up and threw it away, leaving me just some boring Canadian chick who clung to comfort. Ugh. I’m here on the other side of the world and instead of seeing amazing cool things, I was watching Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman. WHO THE FUCK DOES THAT? IT’S NOT EVEN A GOOD SHOW.***

Depression is a weird, weird thing. I hate it and I hate what it’s done to me and how I’ve changed because of it. I miss fun Jenny. I miss the Jenny who could walk into a party where she knew no one and could make a friend. I miss the Jenny who had ambition and pride in her work. I miss the Jenny who laughed hard – so hard – from her gut, and the Jenny who tried to find the love in everyone she met.

So here I am, putting it all out there. And yo, we all know I’m the only Jenny Serwylo in the world so this will TOTALLY come bite me in the ass when I start job hunting…but whatever. Sometimes you need to share things in order to move past thigns. I feel like this is an apology to everyone in my life that’s known me over the past two years. SORRY I’VE BEEN SUCH A DOUCHEBAG FUCKUP, BUDDIES! Still besties?

(Really though, I do feel the need to apologize for who I’ve been over the past couple years. Is that wrong? I Just feel like I haven’t been giving everyone the real version of myself. Like I was some weird Borg or something. I’m sorry. We promise next time we meet we’ll be real.) (hahah that was a Borg joke. Get it? “We’ll be real.”?)

Thanks for bearing with me on this, internet (omg this is really long). I don’t want to make a big deal out of this or whatever, so don’t worry about me. Maybe just kick me in the stomach next time you see me to make sure that black gunk is really gone.

 

*Fucking awesome show
**She mostly sat there and slept and got angry when I had to get up to vomit
***I take it back it’s a great show

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11 thoughts on “So, I’m depressed. For real. I’m sorry.

  1. Dear Jenny, thanks for putting yourself out there and sharing this. I was diagnosed with bipolar a few years back, and can relate in a big way to your experiences. I’m glad you’re talking and sharing. I really feel that’s important.
    Love,
    Jenn
    ps: I know you know this, but I have to say it: you’re NOT lazy…

  2. Jenny, you know me… I’ve shared with you… And trust a 40 y/o who knows EXACTLY what you’re going through that you are EXACTLY where you need to be… Yeah, I know, it doesn’t help, but maybe it might be somewhat comforting to know that your story resonates?

    Sending mental hugs and kisses!

    XOXO

    V (India still talks about you ‘the Jenny who is living where the kangaroos live’ and sends her love too!

  3. I know this post was a while back, but I just found you, and this piece rings rather close to how I’ve been feeling this summer.
    Just know that you’re not alone. Despite being in a “happy” situation, I’ve been feeling rather horrible. I’m a little younger, but I still feel it. They do say that having a 20-something life crisis is becoming a bit more common with how the world works (especially in America which is where I live).
    I honestly hope things improve and you’re able to find your spark again. I look forward to reading more of your posts!

  4. I love you dearly.

    I know exactly what it is you’re going through, as in the last year or so I’ve felt exactly the same.

    I hope you are able to find that beautiful part that makes you Jenny again. And I know you will. You’re too stubborn not to.

    Again, love you with all my heart and I miss you.

  5. I thought *I* inspired you to go to Australia Jenny you LIAR! Just kidding, I love you and I’m excited you are coming back to tdot. I’ve felt like you’ve felt before. Maybe its a curse of the creatives?

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