The man from the local shop and me

The thing about having depression is that it's secret. No one's supposed to know (note to self, no one's supposed to know). And if you didn't write about it and post in on the actual internet, well they wouldn't. No clue. There is literally no clue. Sure, the really really close people can see it. Let me list them. My sister. My sister knows before I know when I'm feeling bad or on the edge of a crash or running away or just plain mental. That's the end of the list. My mother will kill me for that. But she doesn't see it in the same way, no fault of her own. She is just wired differently. In fact, and this is a compliment, she's quite good at being 'male' about emotions. She feels them, deeply but she's pragmatic. A problem has a solution and she will do everything she can to find that. The depressive mind doesn't necessarily even have a problem. And that's the rub. So don't be offended Mum, when there's a problem, you see it. Clearer than anyone and deal with it better than anyone. But I don't speak of problems, I speak of the 'Non' problem. I'm fine. No really, I'm fine. 

The thing about having something that's secret, is that every day you have to face someone. Most days, I face the man in my local shop. We laugh, we giggle. He's seen me tired, in my pj's, drunk, in a rush, post work tired; we have a relationship of kinds. He thinks he knows me. So now we have a 'conversation' every time I need a pint of milk. Or cat food for the bastard cat who has tapped into the side of my personality that can't say no. I've never seen that! Cry my friends; ask dogs and men, it's there. They are all very, very good at tapping into it. So invariably, I end up in my local shop, holding my last pound, buying three more sachets of cat food. For a cat that isn't mine. A Cat. That isn't mine. "You look tired". Oh, do I? Do I really? Maybe that's because I haven't slept properly in a week, maybe that's because I just spent an hour crying for NO reason. Maybe, just maybe it's because I am tired. Thanks, thanks for pointing that out, now let me find my laugh. Oh wait. "Been drinking?" Yes because after the two times I have been in your shop, which happens to be below my best friends flat, to stock up on wine when we've been having one of our Hannah and Lolly nights of fun, means I am ALWAYS drunk. Always having fun. Let me let you into a little secret, the only time I am drunk buying alcohol from you is when there is no other option. Sober, I would never buy the shit wine you sell at double the price of any supermarket. But no, no, I wasn't drinking. Believe it or not, being drunk a handful of times in the one and a half years I have known you does not mean that every time I am tired or 'look' tired, it's because I have been drinking. 

But hang on, let me find my laugh.

No hang on, let me find my laugh. It's really rude if I can't find my laugh. Where's my laugh...did someone steal my laugh? No seriously, I can't find my laugh. 

The corner of my lips move. Something is happening. Wait, it's already happened. I am smiling. Is that my voice? Did I just crack a joke? That's not me talking, is it...? 

And I slide out the door before the sentence ends. I am already gone. Just a flash, a friendly customer who always smiles and always talks. But I don't always want to. "How are you today?" Want to know? Want to really know? Suicidal, well that was thirty minutes ago, now I'm just at down right despondent, hopeless, heart broken by life. So fine, you know, fine.

I know everyone can relate to this as we all have moods. It's that moment when a builder shouts "cheer up love, might never happen" seconds after you hear you lost your Nan. It's that. Every day. Sometimes you go without the milk because it's just easier. But the cat, well she won't shut up so I have to speak to someone. I hate her sometimes. Maybe she's the one saving me, forcing me out the door. "I don't care how you feel, just bloody feed me, you idiot". Oh, okay. "I don't care that you feel shit, pay your rent". Right then. 

Of course, it's necessary, all of it, it can't be avoided. It's just the changing bus driver is so much easier to face. The boss who hasn't seen you at midnight, drunk, early morning, mid day and still in Pj's, he doesn't 'know' you. The shop man. He 'knows' me. And that is terrifying because he's still smiling at me...