It’s A Laugh

Good grief, just had a look at my twitter feed.  Thanks to the Samaritans reading my last outpouring of babble, it’s gone to a much wider audience.  My first thought, predictably was a self critical one.  “They must have a sense of humour then.”

I’m glad they take the trouble, mind, as with these long nails it takes about a day on my creaking old keyboard, and from my creaking old hands, to type out, correct the mistakes, then correct the corrections.  It’d be far easier to start biting them again.  My nails, that is, not you  Unless you …. no, I won’t finish this sentence.

As you can see, I’m in a light hearted mood.  Maybe it’s an act of defiance because there’s been a number of setbacks this past week or so.  But then again, humour has always been a part of my make-up, at least below the skin, to get me through life.

Sometimes a dvd of Still Game or Shirley Ghostman has been the only thing keeping me going.  Though conversely, sometimes 10 minutes of Miranda, and I’m in a darker place than Frank Bough in a dungeon (one for the oldies there).

fml-Living with a Black Dog p12.jpg

I’ve never been a joke teller, mainly due to being shy by nature until I get to know someone, and with low self esteem I always want to be in the background socially and not the centre of attention.  So my humour comes from observations and anecdotes from everyday life.

Thankfully, when at work, I’ve neither been remotely the office or shop floor joker, or noticable enough to fall victim to them.  Besides, as I may have said to one of them, they’re best off not to as a heel in the throat sometimes offends.

It’s a difficult one for the few people who know what I’m going through.  This being the British way of things, we laugh at ourselves in every walk of life.  This doesn’t exclude depression as far as I’m concerned, either, so people are welcome to have a crack at my condition so long as it isn’t overtly offensive.  And being the hypocrite, I’d never make jokes of anyone I knew suffering from it.  I contend this is a healthy sort of hypocrite to be though.

Anyway, with this in mind, a couple of my closer friends, knowing I was okay with it, told me these little gems.  I hope you enjoy them.

—–

“I tried to leave a message for you on the Psychotherapy hotline but couldn’t reach you.  I called and all the line said was “If you are an obsessive-compulsive, press 1 repeatedly.  If you are co-dependent, please ask someone else to press 2.  If you are depressed, it doesn’t matter what number you press, nobody will answer.””

—–

A psychotherapist was conducting a group session among young mothers, unable to cope with their children.  “Your childrens behaviour all stem from your own obsessions”, she concluded.

She turned to the first mother and said “You have an eating disorder.  Even your daughter’s name is Candy.”

On to the second mother “And you are totally consumed by money.  You even called yours Penny.”

To the third mother  “You problem is clearly alcohol.  It’s why your twins are Jack and Daniel.”

Before the therapist gets to the last mother, she stands up, takes her boy’s hand, and whispered “Come on Dick, we’re going home.”

—–

See, even us depressives can laugh.  But please, whatever you do, don’t say “Look, you can laugh, it’s not all gloom and doom you know.”  Because a heel to the coccyx can offend.

And on that note, Happy Tuesday!

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