I don't sulk and wear heavy black eyeliner and creep people out in coffee shops while writing poetry in a cursed-looking leather notebook. (Okay, full disclosure: I do wear a lot of black eyeliner.) Quite the opposite, actually. I like to think that I'm an approachable person and a engaging conversationalist. I know that I entertain everyone at work, like, 24/7, which is why it's difficult to make people understand that It's still inside me. (The Sadness, that is.)
Logically, you'd think the frequency of my depressive and/or terrorizing episodes might diminish their severity. It seems like everyone, myself included, is getting tired of caring for me or taking me seriously. I don't blame anyone for this. It is all getting SO.OLD.
I look at what is happening to me and I'm so over it that it's all I can do not to ask everyone to join me in a insolent and moving round of applause. We'd all point and laugh, saying, "Here she goes again! Here's that WOE that she's so good at!"
My indulging makes It worse, if anything. My soft, tender approach is not enough. Perhaps a controlled dose of cynicism could scare It off. Maybejustmaybe we could boo It offstage. (The Woe, that is.) Would you help me?