Depression is like a call for acknowledgement, at least in a way, at least to me.
It’s a bit like “Look at me, I’m depressed, won’t you help me?!”
It’s a cry for help. (By the way, we (I) hide it. So no one actually hears this cry.) Many times, I feel depression as a tantrum. I want someone to notice, someone to see me as I am, to stand beside me and to comfort me. I’m too proud to point it out. Or maybe I believe only if someone noticed by themselves, would it mean they care about me. Then when I notice what I’m doing, I start to hate myself for it.
Most of the time, people don’t notice. This is the first fault in such my behaviour (using depression as a tool for getting attention). And again, one of the reasons I get depressed is not being independent. (Or, what came first, the chicken or the egg?) This is the second fault in my behaviour. I should start to learn to deal with my own problems. There’s nobody to do it for me.
What am I now? Sad? Angry?
I’m mostly satisfied to have analysed this thought.
My Own Shrink 