I’ve noticed more and more people my age snowballing normal, fleeting emotions into full-blown diagnoses of depression and social anxiety.
It’s just like when people started calling themselves “nerds.” Playing N64 doesn’t mean you’re a nerd. Just the same, sitting in your apartment all weekend doesn’t mean you’re clinically depressed.
I get it, having a little dark side to your personality makes you varied. But, my god, how many people are going to blab on about their dark spells and debilitating sadness?
Being open and honest are all of the sudden considered signs of strength. Podcasts and personal blogs are filled with famous and non-famous folk alike pouring out their every trouble and heartbreak. It’s cool to be sad. And at this point, it’s weaker to admit you’re happy than to defer to depression.
The same goes for drinking. We all like to get a little shitty on a random Tuesday night. That doesn’t mean you’re dependent on the sauce.
The main flag of a faker is simply that they’re talking about it. Real drunks just drink. Real depressed people kill themselves. I am neither. It just peeves me out that people drudge up imaginary illnesses for attention. My nephew does the same thing. He’ll pretend to barf when I’m tired.
You’re not depressed and you’re not an alcoholic. You’re a bad actor and a meme. And most of all: YOU’RE A KID.