"You've had a shitty attitude all day."
My work husband's words hit me like a ton of bricks. It was the end of the night and we had worked together for lots of hours, most of which were spent sitting around wondering when the parties would actually leave. I had laughed at some stuff, we spent a fair amount of time online shopping, and he was just at the point where he was teasing me and I was getting offended. This was someone who was in my inner circle and who had put me into his. This person had become one of my best friends. I had zero reason to be offended at what he was saying but I had latched onto one off color comment and run hard with it.
"I've been in a fine mood all day."
"No, you haven't. You let all your other stuff get to you and now you're being shitty at me even though I didn't do anything to you."
Sometimes I wish that my depression looked like depression in the movies. I feel like it would be less taboo to talk about it if I could just reference how I sit in a dark room all day, staring out of a window, looking at all the happy people and wishing I was them. If my depression kept me in bed all day, every day, to the point where I couldn't go to work or shower or function, a conversation would be that much easier. I don't know how to tell people "I'm not mad at what you said but it made me think of fifteen other things that I am mad about and now I'm going to take them out on you because you're standing in front of me."
This is not the first time I've struggled hard but this time the depression is taking me down with its path of destruction. It's taken all the hopes and dreams and plans I had for almost-thirty and thrown them in my face while laughing. Sleeping alone is hard. Watching women with their children is damn near impossible. Going to another social gathering and thinking of creative ways to avoid questions about college and kids and marriage while still maintaining a smile is enough to hermit me for life.
I drove the twenty minutes home in silence. As I pulled in the parking lot, I sat in my car for a second before heading into my apartment. I texted my friend.
"I'm sorry I was being an asshole today."
I put my phone in my purse and gathered all my things and went inside. I threw everything down on the kitchen table that's become a dumping ground for all my literal and figurative baggage. I went to the fridge and drank straight from the lemonade container because the dishes hadn't been done in days and I didn't have the energy to dirty another glass. The classic depression signs were evident here and hard to ignore.
I pulled out my phone, ready to plug it in and set the alarm for another day I wasn't mentally prepared for. I pressed it awake from sleep and read his response that was sitting on my screen.
"Don't worry about it."