Gordaen’s Blog

This post is one in a series about depression. It uses humor and reflection to explain and relate what depression really is. For those who regularly read my blog, you’ve probably noticed that I generally don’t post much that is personal. I debated for a long time about whether I should write about this experience, and finally decided that it can probably help a lot more people than a PHP tutorial or yet another Bush joke. Hopefully some of you out there can benefit from this.

In 5th grade, I was called Mr. Smiley. I enjoyed nearly everything in life, particularly video games, Skittles, and learning. Smiling so much was mostly a blessing, except when I was not supposed to appear so happy.

“Ian, my grandmother died last night.”

“I swear, I’m not in her will. I just smile a lot.”

At some point, that changed. In high school, I had no real enemies (well, maybe one…), but I wasn’t extremely close to many people. I went from shy to introverted (yes, there is a difference), seeking comfort in technology and Counter-Strike victories. At that time, I thought I was depressed (and probably was to the extent that all people that age are), but I reveled in my sorrow and introversion, amplifying them as I wrote poems by the light of the moon at 2 in the morning. Was I crazy? Certainly, but crazy people enjoy life far more than the sane, the mentally handicapped, even more than the ditsy. We just enjoy it in a very different way. There’s a certain sadistic pleasure you can get from life when you’re feeling like a rock.

To confirm my insanity, I joined the military. I’m manly enough (or self-depreciating enough) to admit that it was an emotional time early on—no, not during Basic; folding shirts into 6″ squares was far too important and time-consuming to allow for a spare thought. Spending almost my entire “career” in the South didn’t improve life, but at least I was able to eliminate one large region from my “places I’d rather live than Hell” list.

I did spend some time in the Middle East. I actually (mostly) enjoyed my time there. It was one of those situations where things are bad enough that you’re able to joke about the situation, but not so bad that you would rather be in the South (okay, okay, I’ll try to stop giving the South such a hard time). I enjoyed the sense of purpose that the mission had (OEF), but the nearly complete removal of the bureaucracy so common when stationed in the states was amazing. “What do you mean it’s okay to call you ‘Billy’ while working alongside you because the mission is more important than calling you ‘Master Sergeant’ and standing at attention like I have a stick up my ass?” I guess due to the rarity of lumber in the Middle East, sticks are saved for more important issues.

Some time after being back at Shaw, everything began to wear on me. I had intended on doing four years and getting out, and each day further ingrained that idea. I even looked at options to get out early. My skills and abilities were being completely wasted, along with millions (more if you look at the big picture) of taxpayer dollars. I tried to get a position as a tech. school instructor (I love technology and I love teaching so it would have been great), but the military was more concerned with rank than with qualifications.

More to come in the next post…