remember how the Australian station Channel Ten stopped airing Supernatural only six episodes into season five, so fans kicked up a storm and mounted a (successful) campaign to bring it back?

Well, three episodes after Ten resumed airing it, they've cancelled it again. This time, it seems permanent. Supernatural is very very poorly advertised, and aired in a timeslot of little significance (mondays at ten pm- everyone's in bed preparing for the next day) and so naturally, the ratings aren't the best. This apparently, is the reason for it's cancellation, despite Ten knowing exactly what ratings they would receive based on previous ratings polls. They supposedly resumed airing it for us, but alas, their lack of respect for the fans obviously does not extend to (at the very least) completing the season.

It's just not fair, and I'm kind of trying not to cry. I'm just so sick of fighting Ten, and putting in all my efforts to keep Supernatural afloat, when Ten just continually decide to screw us over.

On Monday 12th of April, Ten will air episode 5.09 The Real Ghostbusters, and then that's it- we'll never see it again on Australian television.

I'm not entirely sure why I decided to do this now. It certainly hasn't come about because I'm any way depressed, at least, not at this very moment. I guess I'm all worried because badcobear is in a tough place right now (and sorry for outing you about it sweetie, but I care too much) and it's kind of like- I'm okay enough to say what I want to say.
So I'm kind of going to say it.

There is no reason why I am the way I am. There is no reason why I'm happy one moment and the next I'm crying on the floor. There is no reason for me wishing I wasn't here, or wanting to hurt myself, or not eating for two whole weeks. Biologically, it's a chemical imbalance in my brain, influenced sometimes by external factors, but mostly- there is no logical reason behind my sadness. And yet it still happens.

I was thirteen when I self-diagnosed myself with depression. I know. Thirteen and self-diagnosis, it's hardly clinical fact. But I did my research carefully, and came to the conclusion that my sadness was not teenage blues, or because I'm excessively introverted. And even if I was wrong at age thirteen, I was sixteen when I was clinically diagnosed with Depression (note the capital), albeit off the books. And now? Now I'm nineteen, turning twenty in just a few short months, and I have a serious mental illness.

Thing is, I'm not receiving any treatment of any kind. A few years ago, I was taking my mother's abandoned anti-depressants, but they made me feel nauseous, so I stopped. I'm not in therapy, I'm not on pills, I'm not even ringing help lines. And the best part? I'm functioning perfectly fine. I have a depressive episode about once a month (on average) and an epic meltdown every few months. It's not very healthy, I know, but it works for me. I cry and scream and stop eating and occasionally drive to empty locations and spend hours by myself, and then when it's over I get back up off the floor and keep going.

And it works. In fact, it works so well, I've stopped considering suicide as a viable option. This also comes after two failed attempts. I guess in retrospect, they weren't completely serious attempts. I mean, I wasn't attention seeking in any way, I really was at such a low point that I didn't want to live- but looking back, I could have attempted differently, in ways that would have been far more efficient (and not chickened out like attempt number one) instead of what I did do, so I think on some level I didn't really want to die, so I didn't try hard enough.

But I digress. Point is, I'm here now and I've done a lot of thinking. I'm not afraid I'll off myself anymore. There came a point where a realisation struck me. Death held no purpose for me. On one hand, I still see how it could be an escape, and there are times I still think about suicide (admittedly, not so much anymore). But really? There is absolutely no point in me hurting myself in any way. I used to get a satisfaction from self-harm, but ultimately it's useless and I don't need it to cope. And having been through enough episodes (and my breakdowns), I know I don't need to consider suicide as an option because I know I'll be okay again, no matter how brief that time may be. This is who I am, this is how I live now, and that's totally okay by me.

I've been lucky recently. I've had a run of good months. Apart from my Melbourne trip and a few days ago, I've been pretty good. I thought I'd slip this past week, my mood had been steadily declining and I wasn't sure if I'd "break" or not, but I got lucky and bounced back. I'm not so idealistic as to think that is the end of it. No doubt I'll be in a bit of a state this coming week, but for now I think I'm over the worst of this episode. It's comforting to think about. It's comforting to monitor how I'm going. Like even though I'm not receiving help, I'm in control of it. And I know that there are times I'm not in control of it, and that's kind of comforting to know too, because if I wanted to be in complete control, I'd be worse off, because I'd know I didn't have a handle on it at all. Does that make sense? It's nice to know that I'm allowed to be severely depressed at times, nice to know I can sit back and let it run its course. And when I'm all dehydrated and exhausted then I can step back in and take care of myself again, and not feel like I have to hold it together all the time, and feel like I've failed when I can't.

And it's a little shocking to realise how many others deal with depression as well. Statistically, a lot more people these days are experiencing depressive episodes, mostly triggered by events such as the current financial crisis. But to log on to LJ and see other people going through the same thing as me kind of blows me away. I can't comprehend it well- I'm so used to being alone with my situation. It just shows that we don't need to be victims of abuse, or low socio-economic backgrounds, or whatever it is that can be attributed to depression. We can be loved, and secure (if perhaps a little concerned over low bank accounts, or deteriorating friendships, or school grades) and we can laugh with our friends and smile and be perfectly normal and happy. And we can go home and make our pillows wet and not speak out loud for 48 hours and go over negative thoughts in our heads and wonder what went wrong.

And I don't really know what else to say about that, except that being and doing all that? Is totally and completely okay. There is nothing wrong with it at all. There is nothing exceptionally wrong with us. It's just a little chemical imbalance.

Day 16 → A song that makes you cry (or nearly)

They Weren't There by Missy Higgins. It's so beautiful.