Behind The Smile of a Highly Functioning Depressive
I’m sitting in the back of the massive conference room, on the right closest to the aisle. There are seats open around me, but no one sits in them. My computer’s hot in my lap and I feel myself start sweating in the cool open room. Phone in hand, I pretend to be busy while playing solitaire. The lighting in here is horrible.
Welcome to Day Four.
The tables at the head of the conference room are set in a U-shape facing us. Suits sit behind a dozen microphones, laptops, and water glasses, alternately staring at their notes and each other. The audience almost doesn’t exist as these strangers, acquaintances, and friends decide their economic fate. Hands run through hair, pens tap, microphones are lit and darkened as each suit takes a turn at the pulpit. From the top of the table, someone stoically passes a figurative baton from speaker to speaker. Lean forward, lean back. Stand and pace. Take a sip of water.
I wish I could care today. I really do.
All I can focus on are the empty seats around me. How, in this room full of people, I’m sitting alone. Again. I’m more isolated than the President at the G20. What is wrong with me?

I silently name the men and women sitting closest to me, quizzing myself on their industry affiliation. I tally what they’re doing: two typing in a power point, one playing candy crush, three checking e-mails, and one watching yachting videos. I wonder what they’re whispering about.
When I sit behind them, I can pretend they’re talking about me without running the risk that they do just that. I can pretend I meet whatever social standard is required for others to notice you, even though I sit behind them so they don’t notice me. If they sit by me, I might have to talk to them and that never goes very well when I replay it excessively in my head afterwards. I forget the advice of the minimum of three articles I read per week about networking and leadership skills, not to mention the two books from last month about social psychology as it relates to team building. I forget the fun facts I memorized by listening to podcasts on repeat during my workday. I forget about following up with questions and not making too much eye contact and standing up straight without sticking my boobs out too much and not oversharing. Then I realize that I forget to pay attention.
On days like today — ones that have an ‘s’ in them — I have to repeatedly convince myself that I’m good at my job. I have to acknowledge to myself that it’s hard walking into an industry of old friends and asking for acceptance into the fold, and that it takes time to gain that trust. I have to explain to myself that I will be informed enough to have an opinion on that issue; it might not have happened yesterday, and that’s okay. I have to clarify that my opinion on my skills isn’t important because the people who rely on me say I’m doing my job well.
But then that niggling, obnoxious ticker in my head notes that if I were smarter, I would be catching on to this stuff quicker. I wasn’t doing enough here and would never change the world because, goddamn, I couldn’t even find anyone to sit next to me. I wasn’t intellectually provoking on Facebook. I wasn’t witty on Twitter. If I were more driven, I would write articles for magazines, not romanticize late night comedy shows. If I were clever, I would have a blog, not a standing date with Netflicks stand-up specials.
The call for a lunch break interrupts my reverie. After waiting around for fifteen minutes, I send out a text. Ah. My lunch meeting is cancelled because someone more important came calling. I’m not surprised, I’m sure they didn’t mean anything by it. As I glance around, I realize that everyone else has already made their way out in pairs and groups. I’ll just go home and eat by myself again.
It’s not a big deal, really. It was just a work lunch where I was supposed to receive some help on understanding this issue. No big deal. Not like this kind of thing doesn’t happen all of the time. My steps pound out a quicker rhythm over the next block. No, usually it’s my friends forgetting about me or canceling last minute, not work colleagues. My fingers clench tighter around the cigarette I wasn’t supposed to bring because I’m not supposed to have it until after work. I was definitely not going to think about what happened the other day, she didn’t mean anything by it and it does not mean that she hates me. I’m overreacting. This is what I always do, and I need to just stop.
The voice in my ear makes a joke about how the world is ending. I pause my podcast and rip my headphones out as I take the stairs two at a time up to my apartment building.

I barely make it through the door before I start bawling. This is such a waste of time; I clearly wasn’t getting that lunchtime tutoring session so I should really be reading up on the damned issue right now. Snot and tears drip down my face as I tear through my bag and then into the bathroom looking for a tissue. Hands gripping the side of the tub, knees on the bathmat, my mouth forms a silent scream as my head forcefully shakes back and forth. Shit, I really didn’t have time for this. I turn to punch the wall, but remember my security deposit just in time. I really did not want to have to explain a repair to anyone. Oh, and the medical bills.
Punching a pillow is not satisfying, in case you were wondering.
Maybe I should take the rest of the day off and just slow down a little bit. Well, except that it would probably make my employer look bad, if anyone even noticed. I don’t think they would. No one notices me when I am there. No, I need to go back, then come home to change for that class at the gym. Then maybe stay afterwards and practice on my own. If I stay here, there’s no way I’ll bother leaving again, I’ll sit on the couch and wonder what I could have done better in law school and when I could have tried harder to keep friends. I have to keep moving. I have to get to that class so I can feel something aside from… this shit.
Packing a bowl takes my mind off things, and I drag in a few hits before wiping off my cheeks with the back of my hand. Instead of eating lunch, I wash my face clean so no one can tell I cried. Energy bar in hand, I walk back out the door telling myself that I need to remember to eat more frequently.
On the walk back, I try to think about a positive hobby I can engage in tonight after class, as a creative award for making it through my day. I even put on a podcast about how to move a passion or hobby into an enterprising business. Instead of exciting me, I’m only reminded of my Etsy store languishing in obscurity because there are so many other people selling similar things, and they’re all better than me. Despite reminding myself that comparison is the thief of joy, I follow them on Pinterest. None of them have followed me back yet. I’m trying, really, but I don’t know what else to do. They’re already doing it, and doing it better.
Someone else is doing everything I want to do, and they’re all doing it better. Everyone has something to say, an opinion to share, a product to market, and I can’t figure out how they have enough time to read, write, make, and consume so much when I’m barely holding it together. I’m not sure if there’s a point to me saying or doing anything when someone’s probably done it already, and done it better than me.
But I want to, I do. I want to change the world for the better. I want to be the kind of person who gives a TED Talk. I want to make people laugh. I want to share myself with people without suffering from crippling doubt. I want to walk up to this group chatting and laughing in the hallway in front of the conference room and introduce myself. And, I will, I swear I will, I tell myself, with a smile plastered across my face.
Tomorrow.
