July 31, 2004

The Unusual Antidepressant

People often ask me how I can say that I rarely, if ever, get depressed. I don't know if that's a routine question or they are insinuating that I should be more depressed than I am, but I'm just going to ignore that matter for now. Usually, I just cryptically say that I have access to an unusual antidepressant, but this has had the negative effect of bringing my emotional stability into scrutiny. To set the record straight, I'd like to explain my technique for not being depressed.

Fundamentally, my solidly undepressed state of mind arises from the comfortable knowledge that I am just better than many, many, many people in this world. I don't mean better as in more smart or more successful or more capable, because many people are smarter, more successful, and more capable than I am. I just mean better. Before you dismiss me as an ego maniacal asshole, let me hasten to say that, you probably are better too; you just haven't yet discovered the appropriate way to confirm this knowledge.

So what's the secret? Where do I confirm that I am better? Well, whenever I think I might be getting depressed, instead of popping a pill of Prozac or injecting the latest designer drug, I just hop on the Internet and read online journals. That's all it takes really. You'd be surprised how much better it makes you feel about yourself. For example, yesterday I got home and I was just exhausted. I needed a quick pick-me-up. I got onto Live Journal (I don't cruise Xangas any more because it makes me depressed for other reasons) and just started clicking on links until I was about 3 degrees away from anyone I knew.

I immediately came across a tirade by one guy about how a girl he knows keeps jerking him around, complete with a ridiculous comparison of the mind games she's playing to foreign relations between nation-states. What a dumbass. Then I came across an entry by some girl who was in love with her best friend but didn't know quite how to tell him. Could you be any more trite? Move on! That scenario is played out!

My personal favorite for the evening however, was a classic entry by a classic idiot. I could immediately tell it was a guy infected with ATS because the entry began: Your such a bitch! I hate you! I hate you! But I can't stop loving you!

Then, in true Shakespearean fashion, he went on to write her a sonnet. Unfortunately for him (and for me), what he claimed was a sonnet was really thirty lines of free verse, all addressed to you. Now, here's a big question genius: does she actually read your journal? Probably not. She probably doesn't even realize you are alive. So why are you writing something to her when she's invariably not going to read it? Even if she did, I doubt she'd appreciate being called a bitch or the dozen other bad things you called her in your sonnet. So what have you accomplished? Nothing, except perhaps making me feel better at your expense.

See, I'm better than these people. And there are tons more of these idiots out there in the world, and I'm better than all of them! So are you! Unless, of course, you are one of them—one of those raging idiots always enveloped in a cloud of bullshit drama, driven to make their plight known to the whole world through poor prose and horrendous attempts at poetry. In that case, I have very little to say to you, except perhaps this: while from all outward appearances it may seem that your life is hopeless and your existence worthless, you can rest assured in the fact that you do serve at least one purpose, and that is to ensure that people like me are never, ever depressed. So next time, when you're feeling down, try out my unusual antidepressant. It's guaranteed to work wonders!