Analogy

Last night, while reading The Fellowship of the Ring, I decided that being depressed is kind of like being a Hobbit in a world full of Big Folk. Sure, everyone goes through a phase where they're that short, but you are stuck with it forever. All the signs are hung too high for you to see. All the table and countertops require a boost. You know you don't really belong, and so does everyone around you who takes a second to notice. The nice ones will talk to you, bending down and trying to make you feel somewhat less short- but you can see their bent knees, and you know they will never be like you, never have to deal with this. Or they'll stand up, talking with their head bowed, and you can see either way that it makes them uncomfortable. The not-so-nice ones will carefully talk to a point over your head, so it's hard for you to hear them. This also applies to people who somehow do not notice how close to the ground you are. Many people deny the existence of Hobbits, and decide that you're obviously a child who should stop pretending to be an adult.

There are entire companies that seem to deny your existence, but at the same time offer products that will "make anyone more normal". Elevator and platform shoes can give you a taste of what it's like to be tall, but they're awkward, and you're likely to fall down. And you're left hoping that either nobody notices your short arms, or they mistake you for an adolescent T-rex. (Roar loudly to enhance this effect.) There are even stilts out there that, once you learn to properly use them, can make you taller and faster than any of the Big Folk.

And sometimes, from the top of your stilts, you look around and realize that there are more Hobbits up here than you could have guessed. Many of them are the same people who have been so mean or so oblivious. And eventually, you realize that there are hardly any Big Folk. Most of the world is made of Hobbits who have somehow given themselves the appearance of height.

And somehow, when you are not on your stilts, you can never seem to remember that.

Funeral

Dear Thanatophilus,
Did you know that you were really annoying during that funeral? I was trying to concentrate on the woman's life, and all you could say was, "Gosh, how do you think they get a whole body into one of those little urns? Doesn't the little angel look restful?" No, Thanatophilus, the angel does not look restful, the angel looks sad. She's weeping for heaven's sake, not putting her head down like a second grader about to play "thumbs up"!

I can't take you anywhere, and I can't seem to leave you behind. Why are you never satisfied with anyone or anything- unless I am upset about it? When I want to break up with someone, you suddenly think they're tops! When I feel in love, you start telling me either that they stink, or that I am not worthy of such a paragon, and they'll realize it soon enough.

Why can I never win arguments with you?

Who is Thanatophilus?

What a good question!

Thanatophilus is the evil voice that lives in my head. The one that tells me that killing myself, even killing others, would be a great idea. It's not a second personality, it's just my basest, most depressed desires personified. Yes, I know it's probably a sign of mental illness. No, I am not currently seeking help.
My goal here is to maybe amuse, maybe educate, and maybe, just maybe, disempower that evil voice with your laughter.

Thanatophilus got his name while I was listening to a reading from the bible, and thinking about the Greek I took in college. It's simply the words for death and love mashed together in what I think is a proper form. And it's appropriate for this voice. It loves death, at least as far as contemplation goes.

No, I do not actually hear voices. No, I have never made a serious enough attempt on my life that it required medical care. No, I can't go and see a shrink- I am one of the many under-employed, uninsured Americans.

Who am I?

I'm a 28 (almost 29) year old woman who has never had a job with which she could support herself. I am a survivor of abuse, but only just. I am a deeply damaged person, but you'd never know it to deal with me. I work with children, and the last thing I want to be associated with my "real" life is this voice. I know it would be easy to track me down if you cared to, but I am asking you not to.

I am a polyamourous woman, with only one current relationship. He's married. Luckily, she thinks I am awesome, and loves having me around. Unlickily, they live 300 miles or so away.

I may update this if my conversations with Thanatophilus don't prove as revealing as I think they might.