Day 209: Cat-Nap Rant

I’m not sure what medical professionals have to say about the subject, but, in my professional opinion, taking more than three naps exceeding three hours in a week means you’re depressed, or, you’re over seventy.

And depression, the term that we all so lightly toss around as if it were one thing, is where I’m living these days. It’s not so terrible, you know? Napping. Staring at walls.¬† It’s really great actually. When you’re bored out of your mind, defeated by what looks like a hopeless job market, wading through the ebbing tides of sobriety, and turning twenty-nine simultaneously, who wouldn’t be depressed?

It’s fucking depressing.

I hate when people ask you if you’re depressed. As if your saying yes solves some grand mystery. As if my depression looks anything like yours. It’s silly really. So, when people ask me, I tell them, yes. Yes, I am fucking depressed. Aren’t you?

My cat is the only one who knows I’m depressed and has the good sense not to ask. She just gets in my lap and chills the fuck out. She’s more than happy to crawl under the covers for a three hour nap. And, honestly, that’s what I need. I need everyone to shut up and chill the fuck out. It’d be nice if they threw in a purr or two as well, but, you never know what’s asking too much these days. Oh, yes, asking someone if they’re depressed, that’s asking too much. Because, guess what nosey pants? It’s not your business. And, now that you know, what are you going to do with that information? Buy me a milkshake? A lollipop?

Seriously, it’s my mental health not a category on motherfucking Jeopardy.

If I sound callous, I’m really not. It’s just I have trouble relating to half the world as it exists already. So when all my AA cronies start showing concern about things to which they are not privy, it starts to feel like the program that people in the mainstream think it is, AKA brainwash-ville. There’s a level of personal information that people in AA seem to eventually feel entitled to regarding others in the program. It’s like, sharing my journey in recovery somehow is an invitation for you to know the ins and outs of my personal life and struggle. And, it doesn’t. I give you that personal invitation, me, not the program.

The fellowship of AA has carried me through some rough stuff, and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful here, but, it’s a spiritual program whose mission is to keep people sober. That’s it. And, anything beyond that, any additional information that I choose to divulge, well, that’s something else. That falls outside the work of the AA group, unless I choose to bring it in. And, I understand that people get to know you, they get to know your demeanor, it’s understandable that they worry when things seem to change. But, I’m also of the opinion that despite all our shared pain, knowledge, and plight, we are still entitled to our own private journey. And, depression falls into that grey area where, unless I’m worried you’re so far gone that I’m concerned for your life, well, it’s just not my business.

The AA group, to me, is a group of my fellow sufferers. We’re people that unite to deal with a common issue. We’re not therapists, we’re not psychiatrists, we’re not fucking licensed medical professionals. We’re a bunch of drunks. And, I’m proud to be a part of the group, but, I’m not lining up to give anyone advice on curing their depression.

Well, actually, naps. I highly recommend naps. And cats. Cats are good too.


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