On two separate occasions, people who know me personally who have been reading my blog has asked me if I was sad. It came as a surprise, their inquiry. I did not notice that I was being melodramatic, was I really? All I knew was that I was severely short-circuit, the epicenter of a stress catastrophe. Now I stop to ask myself if I am sad. I rerun my last few days and found that I never said I was “actually sad”.
So does that mean I am happy? Well, I never said that. For a fact, I remember telling my closest people more than once in the last few months that I was unhappy.
In the past, my only problem was not eating vegetables; but as time goes by, I feel the psychological junk food I consume every waking day is very high, I now have two reasons for being unhealthy. God help me. I think I am too young to die.
Now I realize what is the difference between being a drama queen and a true attack of depression: it is a matter of consciousness.
I analyze and assess myself on an objective basis, splitting myself in two: a patient and the nurse. If I am to look at the subjective verbalization of the people around me telling me that I am “sad”, objective signs that must be present to validate the claim should be one or a few of the following: loss or a sudden increase in appetite, lack of interest in activities that are usually routine or enjoyed, spacing out unconsciously, a drop in interpersonal relations, anxiety attacks, stress bouts and confusion.
Or in my case, all of the above.