Grimlock ♥ Ultra Magnus

And do something brave.   Because I'm sick of putting on my jokester/happy face, which I am really good at pretending at, and which I woke up and put on today.  Well, after an hour of on and off crying.   I keep probing, trying to figure out why I'm so sad I wish a truck would run me over, and just finish me, and I can't.   

I just keep crying on and off and nothing resonates as why I'm so sad.   Stressed about the open studio?   Hells yes.   And the more stressed I get, the more I've put off cleaning this time, so insanely super stressed.  I'm hoping to get four hours of cleaning done, and have it mostly, if not all, done.   That should be possible.   

But... yeah.  I tried to get up, and shower, and spent another hour crying.   Shower, then another hour crying.  I can do this since it's one of my days off.   I'm at the studio now, finally, so I at least feel like I got out of the house, but the urge to cry is just getting stronger and stronger.   It's an irresistible pull at this point; I'll probably stop mid-post, cry, then come back so if this is disjoined, that's why.   

I know I've spoken about my depression, although I don't know if I've spoken about it to many of you.   It got really bad a couple months ago, and I'm not sure if I'm willing to talk about that in public.   There are people out there who would, no doubt, be happy to hear that they're right, that I'm sad, even if not in the ways they expected or hoped, or that proves them right.   

I may end up cracking more jokes than usual today.  I know I've been doing it a lot lately, mostly because I've been sure people can see right through me, and if I don't laugh and smile and joke, they'll all know.   They'll see, and it's just horribly bad to be sad, isn't it?   Or at least that's what culture tells us.   We're supposed to live in the pursuit of happiness, aren't we?   

And we're told if you pretend to be happy that we will be.   Except it's not true.  Sometimes it just festers.   Sometimes that sadness just lurks underneath the surface, something that feels alive and feral, and it snaps at its thin layer of imprisonment until that layer gives and it all spills out.    By this time, it's too huge and too unwieldy and too fucking overwhelming for me.   

No matter how many times I say I'll just be honest, I'm not.   I feel weak, and stupid, and again - because culture tells us we can be happy if we try hard enough, I feel like I've failed.

I wanted to say something cohesive and important, and that wasn't a huge whine about how fucking sad I am, but I'm too exhausted, and I've started crying again.  I'm gonna leave it at this, and you guys can make of it what you will.