Hello.

Hello there.

Testing.

I'm Back, Motherfuckers.

And I'm cussing like a sailor.

Not really. But tonight I'm attempting to get back into a mood where I AM cussing like a sailor. Because that would mean at least I have the energy to fucking fight.

Depression is one Goddamn motherfucking bitch. And the fucking bitch has come back with flying colors the last few weeks.

No, "flying colors" isn't right. Because depression has no color. It's just dark and foggy and dreary. And heavy. Goddamn, is it ever heavy. It fucking holds you down sometimes.

Literally.

Like when it won't let you get out of bed. Or if it does allow you to leave the bed, the couch suddenly develops it's own fucking gravitational pull.

And so you sit on the couch.

All. Day.

No tv. No music. No nothing. Just you and the damn couch. The couch holds you down and you crawl up in your head and think of Bad Things. Sad things. You try not to, but the fucking bastards wiggle their way in.

So yeah. Me and the couch. We've been pretty close buddies lately.

But you know what's really fucking hard? Explaining depression to a loved one who doesn't understand it. And you can't explain it.

But you're lying to yourself. You can explain it. You just don't want to. Because whatever way you spin it, you will sound like a damn child.

A five year old child who doesn't want to do anything and is scared of everything. Who doesn't want to leave the bed. Or get off the couch. Or leave the house. Or go to work.

Because everything is just sad. You're not doing what you should be doing with your life. And there's no way you can change that that isn't incredibly fucking slow.

Depression is certainly not known for it's patience. And it's too hard to deal with the way your life is currently.

So it's easier to just not leave the bed.

But I'm tired of holding it in and not fucking whining about it.

I have a friend who is having major surgery soon. And she felt bad for talking about it, for saying how scary it was to her. She's got nothing on some people. Someone always has it worse. Like an amputee, for example.

Well, what about the amputee who is missing a leg? Should they not complain, because somewhere there's an amputee who is missing both legs? Or what about the amputee who is missing all their limbs?

Everyone has their own pain. You shouldn't dismiss yours just because you're not the only person with pain.

Fuck. I don't know how to finish this thought. But it seemed important enough to record, to write down.

Don't dismiss your own pain, no matter what it is. Try to be strong and face that motherfucker head on. But don't dismiss it, don't ignore it. Sometimes that gives it more power.

And that's the last thing we all need.

ALL THE DAMN THINGS. Also, Chickens!

I don't know and can't decide if I want to vent all over this Blog Thing or tend to make it habit to sort of reign that shit in. So today, I'm just going to go with the attitude and decision of: "Fuck It." Because oh my God I NEED that attitude today. I need the FUCK IT ALL attitude if I am going to make it through today in one piece.

My head is swimming today. So many things. Have to do all the things. Oh my God too many things. Was in The Black Deep Hole for months and let everything go but now ALL the things left undone are SCREAMING all at once because OMG EVERYTHING ALL THE THINGS NEED MY ATTENTION RIGHT NOW. Noisy bastards.

I swear to fucking God, have I been cursed? The central air stopped working yesterday. Now my fridge is not working. Outside hose not working. WHAT ELSE WILL BREAK NEXT. HEY, THINGS. THINGS BEHAVE. STOP BREAKING. My garage door, half of it fell off. I am not kidding. Awesome. Now any creatures can come and go as they please. I'll have a raccoon nesting in the seat of the tractor next time I go to cut grass. Excellent. WINNING.

Seriously, it's really starting to feel like I need to fucking walk around the house throwing salt over my shoulder and burning sage and swinging shrunken heads and howling at the Wolf Gods and the Cheetah Gods to lift The Curse That Has Settled Upon My House and chant and sing naked under a full moon and do stuff with crystals and do whatever one does with chicken feet although that part I'm not really serious about because I'd prefer the chickens keep their feet.

Seriously, the chickens need to keep their feet. Chickens are nice. I like chickens. Cool? Ok then.

Here. I drew you another silly picture. The chicken looks perplexed since it's so damn hot in here. And my brain is too busy spinning to correctly spell the word "fridge." Whatever. Shut up. I love you. Smooches!

I Love You. Here's An Angry Cat. And A Grumpy Rabbit.

Today started off awesome! and great! and fabulous! and exclamation POINTS!!! and then became bad and stupid and today is an asshole.

HOWEVER. I do not want this blog thing to become a sad little place. I'd rather make you laugh. So, BEHOLD: I DREW YOU RIDICULOUS PICTURES. After lamenting the fact I'm scared to draw in my usual style because I'm paranoid someone might recognize my usual style. You know, because I have hordes of eager readers hanging on to my every fucking word. Or maybe I'm just paranoid and crazy. Yeah. It's probably the Crazy.

BEHOLD! I DREW YOU A DISGRUNTLED BUNNY RABBIT! Why the hell is he so angry? Fuck if I know.



AND ALSO! HERE IS AN ANGSTY CAT! I don't know why he's so mad either. Stop asking questions.



I love you! SMOOCHES!

Because I Know YOU ARE DYING OF CURIOSITY.

So. Yeah. Here's A Little Bit About Me.

My real name is not Enid. That fancy-smancy-ass name up there at the top of this here blog thing is one I made up, a pseudonym. Did I say that yet? I don't remember, and I'm too lazy to go look. I'm not brave enough yet to tell you, Dear Gentle Readers, what my real name is. (I love talking like that. You know, pretending I've got, like, hordes of fascinated readers refreshing the page multiple times in hopes that I've graced the Internet with more of my inane babble.) Because lately my Crazy has reached a new level of Crazy that I am experiencing for the first time, which apparently requires 4 different types of Crazy Pills to contain my Crazy and bring me down to a somewhat normal level of... something. Yeah. Also, obviously, I tend to curse a bit on this here blog thing. Ok, whatever, I cuss a lot. Shut up. It's therapeutic. And if certain family members (who I love so dearly, they help keep me from going absolutely completely bat shit insane, they are such wonderful people) saw the cursing, and also the very honest ramblings I have and will put here about the darkness and the depression and exactly how it has REALLY affected me, then they would worry even more than they worry already. And they already worry a lot. And right now, at least, I feel the need to protect them just a bit. Just a small bit. From my Crazy. Crazy with a capital C, mother fuckers.

I think I went off on a tangent. So. Ok. I'm Enid. I have a small herd of cats and the tiniest hamster in the world. I'm 37. I have no children. I currently have no job, a fact that is most certainly adding to the Crazy. Also, I can draw.

I can draw really fucking good, people. I can draw circles around you. I'm amazing.

Shut up. I am completely allowed to brag about it, because it is true, and also, because it's really the only thing I'm good at.

Speaking of, hey! Oh! There shall be Drawings! here on this blog thing. Soon. As soon as I can get off my lazy ass and draw them! and upload them to the blog thing. Yes. And you will marvel and ooh and ah over the beautimous beauty they will add. Oh yes you will.

Or something.

I totally took my pills too close together today.

I WAS PRODUCTIVE, PEOPLE. MARVEL AT ME.

Are you utterly shocked and amazed? Do you need a moment? It's ok, I'll wait.

You back? Awesome.

Seriously. I was. Productive, that is. And it was more than just brushing my teeth. In recent days and months the pinnacle of my productivity was brushing my teeth. That's why I couldn't be bothered with brushing my hair. Stop looking at me like that.

But, yeah. I redid my resume thing. It's all fancy and shit. And made with photoshop. It sparkles and has unicorns and rainbows in the margins and it's strawberry scented. (Betcha didn't know you could do THAT shit with photoshop, these days, huh?)

I'm kidding. It doesn't glitter in sunlight like vampires apparently do these days. It has no unicorns or other foo-foo-fluffy shit in the margins, nor does it have magical fruity smelling properties. Because apparently those hiring HR-type people have no imagination and don't really approve of that shit.

But! My resume! It is pretty. And eye catching. But still looks professional, and much like a non-crazy responsible human being created it.

So give me a cookie, dammit. Preferably one made of unicorns and rainbows. That'll make me sparkle. BECAUSE I DESERVE IT.

Well, Hot Damn, Mother Fuckers, We're In Business.

Hi there. Welcome to, uh, this here blog thingie. I do hope you enjoy your stay. You can call me Enid. Nice to meet you.

It's probably going to be disorganized around here for a bit. I don't know what I'm doing. My thoughts are sort of everywhere. But I feel obligated to, like, officially introduce myself. Or something. Or, I guess, what? State the purpose of this bloggity thing? Yeah, that's it.

Stop! You might not want to sit there. God knows that pile of laundry is comfy, the cats sure think so, but it's dirty. What? No, I don't remember the last time I've done laundry. Shut up.

Yes, I do know I have, like, 73 unanswered emails. Why are you going through my computer? I also have 24 voice mails that I've yet to listen to. I'm too busy. Taking naps. And no, I don't remember the last time I cleaned the kitchen. Stop looking at all those dirty dishes. Yes, I know they're not going to wash themselves. Ask me if I care right now. Go on, ask me. Do I care right now? NO. NO, as a matter of fact, I could not care less about those damn dishes.

When's the last time I took a comb to my hair? My God, you ask a lot of questions. I brushed my damn teeth today, do you realize how much effort that took?

Now hush up and listen.

Fuck. I forgot what I was going to say.

So. Yeah. I'm Enid. The last few months of my life have been... rough. Lots of bad things happened. Had a hard time dealing. Fell into a big scary black hole.

I felt very, very alone.

Now, I have a strong urge to write. To share my experiences or something. Shit. That sounds cheesy, doesn't it? Whatever.

I guess I got to the point where I simply felt so fucking alone, that I realized that others have felt, or are feeling, or will feel that same dark loneliness. And the thought of someone else going through that, well, it kind of broke my heart even more than it was already broken.

So I guess my point is, if even one person reads this, and feels a bit less of a freak, a bit less alone, feels even a small ray of hope that they're not the only one that hurts like this and that makes it a bit better, well, then... it'll be worth it.

Depression sucks. I've delt with it for most of my life. For the past few years I think I've managed to be, or appear to be, a functional human being. It was exhausting. I was a barely functional depressed person. And several months ago, I started to fall apart. Really fall apart.

But I think I'm starting to crawl out the hole.

I think.

I hope.

So! Hi! Welcome, nice to meet you and all that jazz. Obviously, this blog will be all hearts and rainbows and I love unicorns who prance across the fluffy clouds and glitter and rainbows again and hearts and stars and shit. Yeah. All that.

But seriously, I'm glad you're here.