False face must hide....

At some point I may have to admit to myself that I've been depressed for most of my life.
Because I think doing that might mean that I could stop feeling like I'm just not trying hard enough to be happy. That maybe it's not my fault. That maybe this is something that I've inherited along with the family silver. Or not, who knows.
I think that I have always felt at odds with the rest of the world. I think I met unkindness from my peers early on in life and I could not understand why. I think it's hard to realise that not everyone feels the way you do.
It seems like there is an expectation that childhood is 'the best time of your life'; that children are innocent and untouched and unaware of sadness and badness in life. And I think there (was) a feeling that children/young people aren't/can't be depressed. I think this attitude is changing - I think today there is much more awareness of it. I don't think there was so much in the 1970s.
I think I felt sad and didn't know it. Or didn't know that it was possible to change that. I think I did know that not everyone seemed to be that way - because I think I felt that it was my fault; my problem; that if I were able to be like other people then I'd feel happy.
I also think all these terms are horribly subjective; and that it's very hard to know how other people feel. I don't think I'm the only person in the world who puts of the 'I'm OK' face and lies and lies. (What's that quotation I'm trying to think of? Something from Shakespeare; possibly from Hamlet?)
I also fear that my memories are being tainted by the way I feel now and are not a true representation. Interesting conundrum, eh?

How's that for a serious entry at the end of NaBloPoMo?
One day left - light and fluffy? Or bad and serious? You choose.