I have a depression crush on Karl Pilkington. A depression crush, because I know I would fancy him if I was able to feel human emotions.
It’s funny how having depression changes you as it eats away your likes and dislikes. It’s difficult to find pastimes because you don’t feel like doing anything. At the same time you have to do something because everything to do with depression takes FUCKING AGES.
Starting with antidepressants. Those fuckers take four to eight weeks to take effect. Then you need to see has it even worked. If you need to increase the dosage, the waiting game continues. In the best case scenario you need to change meds altogether and this ballet of bullshit will begin all over again.
I’m not as bad as I was at some point but I still can’t handle watching or reading works of fiction, something which used to be a really dear hobby. Instead I watch documentaries. This started when I was in hospital and didn’t have the energy to even turn on my side. I would watch a documentary on my phone. Not that I could concentrate or remember anything that happened but it was all about passing time.
Another man who makes my heart flutter is Louis Theroux. However, his gentle and understanding demeanour doesn’t really speak to the abyss that is my soul. If I ever find myself feeling lonely and thinking that there isn’t anyone as perpetually negative as me, I start watching ‘An Idiot Abroad.’
Finally, someone as miserable as me. The man of my dreams.
‘An Idiot Abroad’ is excellent entertainment for a depressed person in my opinion.
Even though all my senses have been dulled and numb, there is something comforting about this man getting dragged around the world doing things he doesn’t want to do.
As a person who at times could just about muster enough enthusiasm to breathe that is easy to identify with.
I could be smug about how blessed I’d feel to have the same opportunity as him if only I was well; to get to travel the world for free, but in all honesty, I probably wouldn’t enjoy it either.
I prefer listening other people’s experiences rather than experiencing things myself.
I find a kindred spirit in Karl, someone who doesn’t want to do things either. I haven’t got the motivation to do the laundry, to change my knickers (as it accumulates more laundry), or socialise with people. Texting a one-word reply when my mates ask whether I’m alive is so much effort.
There is something cathartic about seeing someone who is just as motivated about things as me. At least I’m not alone.
Maybe watching ‘An Idiot Abroad’ is a form of escapism. I especially enjoy the scene, where Karl refuses to bungee-jump. I wouldn’t do it either. Not that this wouldn’t be a perfect time to do something like that, as I probably wouldn’t even gasp on my way down. I’m so not fussed about things that it isn’t even funny.
After I was ready to voluntarily embrace tens of tons of moving train, a safe and controlled bungee jump seems like child’s play. I still wouldn’t do it, and people seeking such experiences seem greedy to me. I would love to experience even basic emotions, joy, love and contentment, in my everyday life, and these dickheads need to jump off cliffs in order to feel alive.
I would love to be in the same position. You know what, my life is so good that only an expensive and totally unnecessary adrenaline rush will make it better. Fuck the lot of them. I’m glad Karl refuses to jump, and doesn’t surrender to peer pressure.
I think people should say ‘no’ to things more often. If you know you won’t enjoy something, what’s the point in doing it? I know I won’t start enjoying cooking even if I would finally start listening to those people who apparently think it’s the key to my recovery, along having a run, knitting and jewellery-making.
And I guess watching the show serves another purpose, that maybe someday someone would accept me as unenthusiastic as I am. Karl has his Suzanne.