My thoughts in chronological order whilst watching Episode 9 of the fabulous Korean drama, Love Rain. Spoilers ahead, obviously.

Ha Na, why you run away? Handsome asshole just professed his affections. Mommie Yoon Hee can walk herself back home.

Oh damn, In Ha saw Ha Na and the blood drained from his face. It’s Yoon Hee with a curly mop and homely clothes!

Awkward father-son avoidance dance. Really, what are the chances that Joon didn’t recognize or see Daddy’s car on the road and Daddy’s profile in the shadows? How can Joon even take photographs with his KDrama myopia?

Yoon Hee, why you lie all the time? JUST DATE THE MAN. And what are you exactly sick with? Why you always sick, woman?!

Seo In Ha, you can cook for me any time, you well-aged, handsome man with a stalker complex. Please stop wearing the same thin scarf though. It looks dirty.

Joon, you are a dork and your skinny jeans are utterly ridiculous. And Ha Na, please drink more. And no, barely grazing your lips against someone else’s does not a kiss make. Morning after: calm the fuck down, y’all.

Ha Na, you are adorable.

No, Joon, your over-sized Army jacket is not fashionable - but admittedly, it’s a little better than your Barbie-pink coat. White man, why your words sound more German than English? Okay, German people are white too, I can give you that.

Hye Jung, just STOP. Please. You need a life and put an end to validating your self-worth though men. And where the eff is In Sook and her wide cow eyes?

Damn, are Hye Jung’s scary eyes green?

Oh my God, Jang Geun Suk kisses like a pro. LUCKY YOONA.

So far, I’m rooting more for In Ha and Yoon Hee to finally get together because their relationship seems more real (besides the pervasive illness factor and Yoon Hee lying out of her ass all the fucking time). Joon and Ha Na represent your typical Korean drama protagonists - arrogant asshole with a soft side, and the bright, quirky ingenue who is his foil. Nothing I haven’t seen before.

All I can say about the preview to Episode 10 is WHY IS MY IN HA BEING HIT BY A CAR? Yoon Hee, you better get your shit together because your complacency drives me absolutely insane.

I usually refrain from espousing unbridled rage here, but I have given in to the rationale that it’s better to dilute the anger on my personal online what-have-you, than to bottle it up until I resort to the physical maiming of the said individual. Dear Lord, where do I begin…

You, the self-proclaimed upholder of common sense, goodwill, maturity, and justice - you, who consistently perpetrate the pattern of destroying and breaking every woman you have touched - you, the purported sane and rational judge among masses of the ignorant and foolish - you have trapped yet another poor victim in your ceaseless hunt for warm-bodied females.

And your prey isn’t the standard-grade bimbo. No, you seek more intellectually stimulating types. The intelligent, strong-willed, capable women who admittedly, may be lacking a bit in emotional astuteness (because they have been working, for most of their lives, on other aspects of self-improvement with scarce time to wonder about the tragic shortcomings of stunted men), are your prime target. You are drawn to their strength and power, as you have always desired these qualities in yourself, and once you have ensnared them via your typical speedball of charm and manipulation, your self-doubt and insecurities again kick in.

You worry that she may request more of you than you are willing to give, which really stems from self-hate associated with your own buried suspicion that you really don’t have much to give in the first place, aside from a warm body (when you feel like it). You gripe about the possibility that she may be trying to take over your life with her values, her opinions, and her way of doing things, which insinuates terrible arrogance on your part - believing that a relationship does not consist of two people sharing and restructuring their previously separate lives, but that it is ultimately her responsibility to find a nook in your life in which to quietly fit, creating as little of disturbance as possible to the other elements of your pristine world. 

If you are so comfortable and happy with your own life that you don’t want any changes to occur, then why bother pursue a woman?

Of course, for the warm body. Because a man has needs. Needs that apparently end up becoming a one-sided discourse where the other rarely derives any benefits from you…or from your pristine world that is mostly off-limits to her. Because all you have to say to her, in order to straighten things out, is a premeditated rendition of the following: “I am not ready for anything serious at the this point of my life [however, I am perfectly ready to roleplay seriousness with you as it is good practice and bestows me all the benefits of a relationship without doling out any sacrifices]. I want to get my life in order before I am able to consider you a candidate [maybe as a respectable human being rather than my current view of you as a blowup doll made of flesh]. I do appreciate your companionship [mostly because I will otherwise succumb to loneliness as I am completely incapable of retaining any real friends] and harbor affection for you [of which you can hardly benefit because I have no obligations to show it in my actions, because, as implicated in this circular argument, we are not serious].”

So now your world is complete, with a smart, wonderful woman in tow. But as the relationship falls apart, as most women eventually come around and see that you are full of shit, you always wonder why. You tell yourself that she is certifiable, like most of the other women in your sordid history (surprise, surprise!). You argue that you were more than reasonable with her, since you did have that lovely talk regarding your expectations, and then you proceed to reharness your energy to pursue new prey.

It has been less than a year, darling, and you have cycled through this twice already and are now in the throes of a third. Happiness is apparently not what you are aiming for, as your repeated mistakes appear to have a longer lifespan than any meaningful connection with another human being.

Have you stopped and considered for a moment that you may be the crazy one?

This is a story about depression. Perhaps not pertaining to everyone, this is a musing extracted from my own personal experience in the past, and by association, reflects the definition of depression that is most accurate for me.

In the United States, major depressive disorder has a lifetime prevalence of 17%. On the same continent, the probability of developing depression is approximately 10% in females within a one year span. Ten fucking percent. A year. This is not something to brush off like the possibility of dying from the common cold in the modern day and age. Depression is serious business, as statistics have shown that 3.4% of depressed individuals succeed in taking their lives. 

Enough with the numbers. Let’s divulge in how we feel when we get sucker-punched by the Queen of melancholia. There have been reports of loss of interest in pleasurable activities, general malaise, interrupted sleeping and eating habits, low self-esteem, and terrible moods. Many people note that they can’t stop crying and have trouble getting out of bed. Fortunately (or unfortunately?) for me, this usually does not apply.

The strangest part and parcel of the madness is, speaking from a superficial level, I am not usually aware that I am depressed. This lack of awareness, coming from someone who thrives on knowledge of the self, is a bit shocking.

Perhaps it began slowly, insidiously crawling into my seratonin levels and infecting every part of my brain associated with emotion. But when I’d found myself in the throes of a major depressive episode, I had still been operating with relative normalcy: going to work, paying my bills, and washing my hair - although the motivation behind these daily functions had shifted without my being aware. Rather than being motivated by internal considerations and goals, I was either acting out an ingrained routine or driven by threats from external sources (e.g. “If I don’t go to work today, I might get fired. If I don’t pay my bills, I might get evicted. If I don’t wash my hair, I might not want to go to work.”)

Then there’s the apathy. The God-awful symptom of each episode. While depressed, I find it extremely difficult to get excited about anything. Looking forward to an upcoming event is deemed impossible of an emotive task - and that’s what happiness, joy, and anticipation seemed to be during that time - tasks that one has to work for, rather than naturally occurring emotions. However, since I was still functioning more or less on the outside, I found that recognizing the mood shift takes a long, arduous while. Perhaps it’s because one does not tend to engage in positive self-reflection while things are absolute shit, internally speaking.

I am grateful though, that I have now come to identify my depressive episodes as such, because I can start developing the capabilities to experiment on how to pull myself out. Now let’s just find the motivation.