January 25th, 2018
I’m depressed. I’m depressed and all I can muster up is this stupid cup of coffee, with not nearly as much creamer as I like because I effing ran out. Not as much sugar as I like, because, “That’s not good for you” and I’m trying to not blow up like a balloon now that I’m not working a super physical job anymore.
I’m depressed because all I managed to do today was get a lame picture of a lame cup of coffee and had to bury that all deep down because I have to put on a smiley, perfect face for people who don’t appreciate and don’t value me. I have to do this, because it is socially unacceptable and unprofessional to tell those mentioned above, to kindly go pound rocks.
I’m depressed because as a society, and as a community of photographers we define success by how much we charge and how much income we bring in. We don’t value emotions when it comes to success, and that bothers me. Because I would much rather be happy and joyful 75% of my life, then be a billionaire. I would much rather live comfortably, then live a life overtaken by depression and gloom. Because to me, my happiness is directly related to my success, and my success is if I am creating work that feeds my soul.
Today, I didn’t do that. I took a photo of a lame cup of coffee, while still in my pajama’s and had yet to comb my hair or brush my teeth (Gross I know) and sat down next to my computer, drank said cup of nasty coffee, and got about my day.
To someone from the outside looking in, they’d never know I was depressed. Because I’ve gotten so good at putting up that wall that NOBODY can tell unless I tell them. Nobody sees anything other than smiles, laughs and horsing around. They never see what truly lies beneath the surface.