Please Accept My Depression Without Trying to Fix Me, Or My IKEA Dresser

Before we get close, it’s probably fair for me to warn you that I have depression. It’s really not that big a deal, since I’ve developed a pretty good grip on my condition. All I ask is that you don’t try to change the way I’m fundamentally wired. As someone who cares about me, please accept my depression without trying to fix me, or this IKEA dresser by my bed that’s sort of broken but still works totally fine.


My Tyssedal dresser is just a little busted, okay? It looks like shit because I attached the legs unevenly and now it slants down to the left, which I know gets annoying but like I said, it’s still perfectly functional. I put like seven lamps on top of it and a lot of my dirty clothes and none of them have fallen off yet. That’s just my reality.


Also, if that wasn’t enough of a metaphor, please don’t try to take responsibility for how I feel at any given time. You can call me on my bullshit, and I’ll change what I can, but you should know that not every problem has a solution. People sometimes just have a certain brain chemistry beyond anyone’s control, and/or a really shitty dresser that isn’t put together correctly.


In other words, put both your emotional toolkit and your hex wrench set away because my IKEA dresser is pretty much fucked up that way for good. I’ve had it since childhood and even though the entire backside has gone missing, perhaps from termites or because I built it when I was 11. Despite the mess that it is, there’s tons of space inside to hold stuff and it’s not going anywhere, just like my chronic depression.



Right now it’s filled with jean shorts, money, one huge tangled web of bralettes and a random assortment of edibles. Would a dresser that needs fixing really be able to hold all that stuff? I’m no Swedish furniture designer but I believe not. Please stop looking at my dresser and me like one of us is going to collapse at any minute. I mean, we are, but that’s not your problem.


IKEA dressers can actually last forever even though they’re mostly made from wet cardstock. That’s something I’ve discovered after letting my dresser just sort of sit in the corner for the last 20 years during my treatment resistant depression, so there’s no need on your part to attempt repairs. Maybe just don’t brush it off or leave?


Also, please accept me the way I am without trying to fix me. Sharing the realities of your life with another person is one thing. Trying to correct them, or fix their dumbass dresser they’re never going to throw away, is another thing entirely. Seriously, that dresser looks like something a colony of ants carried out of the woods believing it to be a rotted log because it just looks that way, okay?