Unwelcome cachet

(Transcript of a phone conversation yesterday, as verbatim as I can get it)

"Hi, I'm wondering if anyone at your clinic is taking new patients?"

"That depends on what time you'd like to be seen."

"Mid-afternoon? Between 3:00 and 5:00 would be best."

"No, we don't have anyone available then. The only times we have free are between 10:00 and 2:00."

"Hmm, that probably won't work. Do you know if any of your other clinics have openings?"

"I can check. What is your primary reason for this visit."

"Um, I guess that would be depression."

"Oh. [pause] I can get you in at this clinic on Monday at 4:00."


So about a month ago I came to a shocking realization: I am a huge fucking moron and a total failure at everything I do. Out of nowhere! I can't finish anything, I can't start anything, I can't do anything. I'm not smart, not funny, can't communicate in any meaningful fashion, can't behave like an adult. I used to be so good, so awesome...and now I'm a horrible asshole. A huge fucking moron. I totally shut down, because when you are stupid and awful there's not a whole lot you can do anyway, right?

I thought about my problem long and hard and came to the conclusion that one of four things must have happened:

• I somehow suddenly and inexplicably lost 26 years of intelligence and social graces;
• I was always without intelligence and social graces, but somehow suddenly and inexplicably lost my ability to bullshit my way through life;
• I was always without intelligence and social graces, was never able to bullshit my way through life, and was just now realizing what everyone else knew all along but was too polite to tell me; or
• Adult-Onset Asperger's

When I finally got around to researching my predicament online (in the precious few moments I had between sleeping all of the time and being immobilized by my sense of worthlessness), I found out two things: First of all, there's no such thing as Adult-Onset Asperger's. And second, the symptoms of being a huge fucking moron are exactly the same as the symptoms of depression.

Seriously. Depression. What the hell.

Because here's the thing: I've had depression before. In a big way. The pills, the therapy, the overnight in the psych ward, everything. And I worked my ass off to fix myself and rebuild my life. And now it's back? Again, what the hell.

But then I realized, if it is depression, that means I failed to keep myself un-depressed. So either way, I'm right. I'm a failure. I win! And that tiny bit of cognitive dissonance was enough to overcome my denial and make me call a clinic, resulting in the above conversation. And they apparantly think I'm in such bad shape that I won't survive past the weekend. I win again! I win at having incredibly poor mental health. Gotta take your victories where you can, right?

So here I am, waiting for Monday. Already I feel better, smart enough to have figured out what was really wrong, accomplished enough to schedule an appointment. In control of my life enough to fix the broken parts. I am okay, or good enough, or working on it. It varies minute to minute.

For now I am just going to keep existing and see what happens.