Forensics of Impending Depression

If you’ve been reading much lately, you know that I’m courting change and trying to do a lot to better my situation after a very long time of inactivity. I have not wanted to read, write, blog, go to work, cook the dozens of recipes I want to try, watch movies…anything. What I have wanted to do more than anything, in fact, is come home, look at simple memes, hot boys, scenic pictures of nature, sleep, and watch Forensic Files. Just Forensic Files. Nothing else.

I love forensics shows, and they are inherently sad, but lately I have centered in on that show with unholy enthusiasm. I’m fascinated by all the evidence and legalities, the DNA and the minute traces, everything about the show. I always have been fascinated by stuff like this, but the zeal with which I am watching this show isn’t normal. I’m getting emotionally involved, cussing out my TV, predicting the outcomes, and eventually laying there in a daze. I’m rewatching old episodes and letting them play in the background while I nap or space out and enter a daydreaming state. I don’t want to listen to music, even. I just want to space out and watch freakin’ Forensic Files.

I thought about why, why this show rather than something fun, and whether this could be affecting my mood (which on some level it absolutely must), and the only thing I could come up with is that there are just so many of them. There are 80 episodes on Netflix and the show airs at least 2 times a night on TV. I can put it on, space out, and let the time pass. There are plenty of Forensic Files for me to devour so that I can…what? Train me to be a cop? To run DNA evidence? Concoct the perfect murder? Doubtful.

Anyway, though the signs have been there, I haven’t fully realized how close I am to slipping into a depression. I suppose there’s a lot on my mind and I have a lot going on, but usually I jump up and DO something about it. I don’t even want to put on something I really like. The only shows that can intrude are Bates Motel and this final season of American Idol. I don’t want to read. I don’t want to cook. When I try to daydream, to whisk myself away, to think of my wolves, some terrible event always manifests from my brain to mess it all up. I’m sabotaging my own daydreams so that I only sit and think about nothing. Or the next episode of Forensic Files. And the one after that. And after that.

It hit me this past weekend. I was watching TV early on Saturday evening (can you guess what I was watching?) and I thought that I only had one night and the next day left before I had to return to work. I had almost half my weekend left and I was ready to collapse in exaggerated horror, grief, and malaise at the thought of going to work, of having to do ANYthing. Clearly, Forensic Files wasn’t cheering me up (I’m not sure how it could), so I jumped on YouTube.

I was looking up interviews with random celebrities I like and decided to look up Kylie Minogue. She was on this British talk show with this obviously, clearly, amazingly gay man named Alan Carr on his talk show, Chatty Man. First, he was so hilarious that I thought I was going to die. My sides and stomach hurt the next day. Second, it’s the UK, so they can say ANYthing and they drink! Third, I can’t get over how funny he is and how witty and how willing he is to do anything.

It wasn’t until I watched that and laughed and laughed and laughed some more that I realized how odd it felt. I hadn’t laughed like that in days…weeks…longer? It loosened something in me that I didn’t know was wound so tight. I’m always talking about taking a step back and assessing what’s making you miserable, but it’s hard to do. Sometimes you don’t even know that you NEED the step back. I was on the downward slope of depression. I was losing a battle I didn’t know I was fighting. I should. I’ve been there before. Being aware of it will allow me to defeat it. Plus, I’m changing, that I’m on the road finally.

My own sense of humor has gone to absolute shit during this time, but Mr. Carr and the laughs he provided tickled me in the best of places. *evil grin* I feel better. I’m not out of it, but I’m aware of it. And there are plenty of Chatty Man episodes online to help me bilster my strength until it comes back.


~ by Darren Endymion on March 28, 2016.

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