I could have sworn I had already made a post with this title, but a search can't even find the phrase anywhere in my blog. Go figure.
Context time: What follows is my response to someone else's lengthy post about Depression on a different "social media" platform. I spent enough time writing it that I thought I should "preserve" it here, but I often think stupid things.
I like to think I am good at hiding it. I know I am especially good at hiding all of myself. Hell, back when I was able-bodied enough to do so, I built a room inside my garage that is literally lightproof and soundproof, and that is where I am right now, in the middle of a nest of clutter I know I will never clean. SSRI meds didn't work. MAOI meds made it worse. TMS treatments didn't work, but the people were nice. Despite assurances that the methodology has improved greatly, I am still, for now, more afraid of ECT than I am of just being like this. I have always been like this. My memory is bad, but I have artifacts, things I wrote and drew, not just as a teen but also as a child, and I have some of the concerned notes sent to my parents from my teachers. I have always been like this. I don't expect I will ever feel suicidal again. Life is pain but it is also short, and it keeps getting shorter the longer I live, and I have never really been on good terms with Death. The only good thing Death has waiting for me is a final silencing of the infernal ringing in my ears (not really my ears, they can't hear pitches that high, but rather my broken brain seems to be stuck in some kind of feedback loop in my auditory cortex). But enough about me, how are you?
Addendum: This is a remarkable demonstration of the problem I have previously described as "The Prison of 'I'" or "The Problem of 'I'". I seem to recall having postulated a solution. I should go back and read it before I write anything else. A particular clip of a particular scene from the final episode of The Prisoner always pops into my head when I use "I".