Self-Absorbed

One of my new coworkers is a rare boon, one of those individuals I meet every once in a while where I know immediately that we should be good friends (though whether or not that ends up true is not certain; flakiness/lack thereof is usually a greater determinant than kinship of spirits when practicing friendship is involved; perhaps the subject of a later post). I wasn't sure at first why I got that feeling from Oscar, since he also happens to be more self-righteous than I usually prefer (runs half-marathons, passionate about the West Bank) - until he mentioned something about dealing with depression. (Aha! there was the connection.) I asked him how he felt about being a pill-popper.

"What's wrong with that?"
"The dependancy."
"Listen, I used to be against treating my depression, too. If I really took the time to take care of myself, I COULD get through it on my own. But then I realized what a waste of energy that was. All the time I was spending on myself, I could have been doing something else."

How eye-opening that was for me! It was true: the reason I let myself fall into such a state of ignorance and narrowness is because I don't have the energy to care about more important things. I'm completely, totally, butt-crazy in love with myself! And that is inexcusably self-indulgent. Even if I couldn't be induced to make a difference to the world globally, I at least could take the time to enrich myself in a more meaningful way, instead of saying woe-is-me all day.

I still feel some aversion to popping pills, but I've decided that I shouldn't consider it a weakness to ask for non-natural, professional help.