"Deeply boring and deeply embarrassing"

Annie Thériault has it exactly right in this thread:

Depression is equal parts deeply boring and deeply embarrassing. Everyone’s always like, “reach out!” and “you can talk to me any time!” but let me tell you from my wealth of experience that 96% of people don’t want to hear you rehash your unstable self-image for the 371st time 

People love hearing the dramatic bits; stories about hospitalizations are surefire, as long as you can maintain the balance of seeming like a credible narrator (not an easy thing to do when the story starts out with you doing something ill-advised, as most hospital stories do)

But 99.9999999999999999% of conversations about me being depressed are like “hi, yeah, I hate myself, same as yesterday. I feel that I am very incompetent at everything! I’ve added a few fresh details to the catechism of Why I Am A Monster, but functionally it’s the same.”

Then there are just further layers of like, Is Talking About This A Brave Disclosure Or Am I Just Doing It For Attention? Am I Wallowing Or Working Through My Trauma? Is This Person Going To Call The Cops If I Talk About Wanting To Die? Does Everyone Hate Me? How About Now? 

It is very hard for me to imagine anyone not hating me because my own personal loathing is so beautifully infinite

Truly, what on earth am I going to say to you, patient friend, that you haven't already heard often enough to quote? Worse: what am I going to say to you that isn't already so worn and repeated and downright damn trite that you can't lip-sync it while I whine? Even worse: it doesn't matter how awesome and kind and patient and insightful you are, because I'll dismiss anything positive you have to say, because you're one of the terribly deluded and deceived and deeply kind people who like me and can't see what a loser schmuck I am, so how can I possibly trust your judgement? And the humiliating icing on this cupcake of pointlessness is, oh, gods, how spectacular a weenie am I even to be complaining about this shit, much less feeling it?

That said, I think I must have it easier than Ms. Thériault, because at least I don't feel that I'm A Loathéd Monster; rather, that I am An Egregiously Irritating Loser Endlessly Encroaching on the Goodwill of Others. (Okay, now I have to write something titled "Endlessly Encroaching" -- isn't that a delicious title for something terrible and/or snarky?)