So you know how you feel like a big jiggy jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces and lots of intricate images of flowers? And so no one can put you together in a way that actually resembles that fucking picture on the front of the box? And you’re just so complicated that no one could ever understand you?

No. Just no. You’re not complicated. You’re depressed. Which often makes you less complicated because you share a lot of traits with other depressed people. Like hating on things. Or being sad about things. Or keeping secrets about things that people wouldn’t judge you for anyway. Or telling people things that they will judge you about just to see their reaction. Shit like that.

So here’s the thing: by the very nature of there being no one else who is you, you are unique. No way around that unless cloning human beings becomes both scientifically possible and morally acceptable. Your feelings are yours alone, your thinkings are yours alone, your eyebrows are yours alone. So yes, no one else fully understands you. This is sad, and yet also incredibly comforting.

Does this mean that there is not a single other person in the entire world that could maybe, possibly, slightly understand how some of your experiences affect you? Fuck no. Meaning yes, there is such a person. Because for one, there’s this little thing called empathy which allows people to not be fucking “sociopaths” and to understand each others’ perspectives. And for another, there’s this thing called, other-people-have-gone-through-shit-similar-to-you-and-can-agree-with-you-about-how-much-it-sucks.

Now, if some fucking asshole tries to pretend they know everything about you because their dog died seven years ago and you just had your right kidney removed, then fuck that. On the other hand, if someone is reaching out to you because they had their  left kidney removed and they know how it leaves a void in your heart as well as a physical one in your body, then hey, that might be an interesting story, if nothing else.

So you can keep believing that you’re mysterious and inscrutable. Because you’re right, no one does completely understand you. And when someone gets part of you, for instance, your depression, there’s no real reason to squirm out of it. Everything will be okay because you can just sit quietly and nod your head until they leave you alone. Or, if you don’t mind their misguided attempts to tango with your complexity,  it could even be useful to speak to them.  Who knows? If they really do get what you’re going through, then maybe they know a way out.