OK, so the moral of the story in this is that I should be kicking myself for being depressive, and that it's just all in my head, and how silly I am for making the situation.
As someone who has battled depression for a good chunk of her life, and has helped others through it, one of the worst things you can say to a clinically depressive person is that it's all their fault.
I should have kept my fingers shut.
(And an honest thank you to janlee.)
ETA:
quotes from someone else about their depression. Pretty much sums things up for me as well.
And while I fully respected the intelligence and expertise of the doctor I began to see, he could base his diagnosis only on the subjective information I was giving him. It wasn't his fault he thought I was depressed; it was mine.
A distinguishing feature of my depression has been the trouble I keep having with who should decide when depression is an illness, not a frame of mind. How can someone who's outside my mind clearly determine what's inside it, if all he has to go on is what I tell him? What if I've simply exaggerated my emotions and let them get the best of me? What if I'm not trying hard enough?
(snip)
To me, it's a bad attitude, a deficiency of willpower, and something I brought upon myself. It is a weakness I'm ashamed of. When I'm "depressed," this is how I reason: "I'm not nauseated. I don't have a fever. I can walk and talk and eat and read and shout hallelujah if I have to—I just don't want to. Which means I'm the one who's uncooperative. It's obviously my fault—don't go blaming it on some disease. Maybe other people have this disease, but not me." It never occurred to me that maybe all of my objections about having depression were being fueled by it.
Real depression, in my mind, was validated by tragedy, heartache, financial woes, abusive parents, a family death—the powerful blows life can deliver, not a few slaps on the wrist. It seemed to me one had to earn the right to call herself depressed. My loneliness and despair came from character flaws within me, not from tragic circumstances surrounding me, and though I often wished the doctor would come to my rescue, I knew I was no damsel in distress. My sad dragon was of my own making, visible only to me.
It's always been hard to believe it's really not my fault, any more than having diabetes would be. Like the song says, don't worry, be happy. Isn't it supposed to be that simple for everyone? Nothing is simple when you're depressed. Waking up to face a new day is hard. Getting something—anything—done is hard. Going out into the world is hard. Communicating, thinking, and deciding, keeping up with personal hygiene—it all seems so pointless. Hope is impossible.
...I knew I wasn't depressed, I had misled the doctor, I had exaggerated my pain, I wasn't trying hard enough, I was a wimp, I was stupid, it was all my fault.