This is an essay I wrote for a women's health essay contest back in October 1999. Since the winners were supposed to be announced back in October, I can safely assume that I didn't win. Big surprise...this was probably too creepy an essay for the judges. Still, I like the essay, so I want to share it with you all.
Hi, my name is Depression, and I loathe people. My diabolical plan for eliminating the human race is to inflict people with insurmountable sadness--seek out their weaknesses, exploit them, and cause them to end their own lives. Unfortunately, I seriously affect only 8% of adult Americans at some point in their lifetimes.
Women are affected by me almost two or three times more than men are. Why is this? Sure, the experts all have their theories. Estrogen levels are out of balance; neurotransmitters are released too little or too much. Some researchers will point fingers at genetics, melatonin levels, economic or education status, and even the anterior limbic system, which is a region of the brain responsible for emotional activity. Infertility, breast cancer, and drug abuse have also been associated with my influence. However, others will argue that the culprits are the social expectations of women. Women are seen as caregivers, nurturers, and supporters, and when my influence brings them down, they keep it to themselves and do not ask for help, while feeling irresponsible and ineffectual. Whatever the reasons may be for the larger number of depressed women, they just make my job easier. If no one notices the symptoms of depression and forces the woman to seek treatment, the coast is clear. I'll be in control, and I'll reoccur more and more often, each time a bit more seriously.
Those poor humans. They'll never know what hit them.
Though I'm actually quite prevalent in varying degrees, the majority of my victims know little about me. Many of them don't even recognize the warning signs, such as changes in weight, eating, or sleeping habits. Symptoms of excessive lethargy, decreased concentration, feelings of worthlessness, and thoughts about suicide do not raise warning flags in their minds. Some people actually believe that depression is a normal part of aging! It is so convenient the way they make their own excuses and enable me to slowly take over their lives. It is so easy when they aren't careful.
When people I have plagued with the blues do not seek diagnosis and receive help, they are on a speedy spiral down. They do not recognize me for what I am; they do not reach out to support groups for aid. Simple techniques such as redefining expectations, getting exercise, and focusing on progress could relieve them of me, but as everything is proceeding according to plan, the humans are ignorant of my powers and the dangers they present. They are unaware that with various types of therapy or antidepressants, they could easily put an end to me. As I confide this, my millions of henchmen are scattering to all parts of the world to dart into doctors' offices, bookstores, and clinics to remove pamphlets, posters, and books about me. Given the current state of the situation, it doesn't look like I have anything to be concerned about in the near future.
Depressing...isn't it?
© 1999 Helen Lin
