Maybe I'm Not Depressed, Just Bi-Polar

I had kind of an emotionally crazy day. I got up to get ready for church and was fine until I went downstairs and my dad told me that, because it was Father's Day, we weren't allowed to use computers or iPods. I kind of flipped out once I got upstairs because I kind of need my iPod for basic human functioning that the rest of you people can do normally. I'm just so freaking special I can't walk downstairs in the morning while someone's eating cereal without my music turned up REALLY high.
Anyhow, I ended up getting trapped in my room for that exact reason; my little brother was eating cereal and banging his spoon against the sides of the bowl like he does all the time without noticing it. So, I listened to my CD I burned consisting of all the Skillet music that would fit on it in my stereo, sitting on my bed and hungrily waiting for fifteen minutes (because it would take Daniel fifteen minutes to finish a bowl of cereal). Usually when something 4S related inhibits me from doing a normal action that a normal person could do, my mood suddenly flips from, "Well, this sucks," to, "I want to commit suicide. Right now."
And, because Satan likes to mess with my mind, my thoughts quickly become very, very frighteningly depressed. As I listened to "Never Surrender" by Skillet and had to blink back my tears over and over again.
When we got into the car, my family quickly picked up on the fact I was in a really bad mood and promptly stopped talking to me (because whenever I'm angry, it's best not to). But, they thought I was mad because of my dad telling me I couldn't use my electronics today, so I could feel a constant Steph-is-being-difficult wring-her-neck vibe being sent from each one of my family members.
My pastor, Harlan, talked about how fathers who are followers of Christ, among other various suggestions, should spend time with their kids. "Kids spell 'love': T-I-M-E". Harlan said also that fathers should check up on their kids, comfort them, and love them. The whole time, I couldn't help but think, "My dad doesn't do any of these things!" Like, I know he loves me, but I always feel like he forgets me. My siblings are so happy-go-lucky, and I'm all gloom-and-doom all the time, so he tends to stay away from engaging in conversation with me. Plus, compared to my siblings, who am I? My sister is a history buff who wants to be a lawyer and my brother is great at math and wants to be an engineer. I'm Stupid Steph who can't decide between vet or artist. I'm also the introverted kid who spends a lot of time in my room, so why should he be compelled to come up every once in a while to see how I am?
After church, in fact, I hung out in my room for an hour contemplating suicide (because Satan likes to throw that into the list of possibilities of how to get rid of 4S) wishing somebody would come and talk to me. But nobody did. So, I migrated to the hammock on the front porch, passing by my dad while he read on the couch on my way to the front door. Nobody thought of coming out because "they hadn't seen me all afternoon". Then I tried a little harder and moved to one of the couches in the music room, in plain view of the whole house. Nada. Nothin'.
Defeated, I decided to just go to the Bat Cave (or the sparcely furnished crawl-space in my room) because nothing was working and I doodled and wrote on the walls.
And then it was time to go to Outback Steakhouse because my dad wanted to go there and everyone wondered why I wasn't talking. (Just an observation: Whenever I'm not speaking during social outings, the conversations held by the remaining members of my family are just...awkward and lifeless. My mom asked, "Are you okay?"
I rolled my eyes and said, "I'm fine," stressing the second word almost sarchastically.
I hate it when my family thinks it's a good idea to try and make me laugh when I'm pissed. It just makes me more pissed.

Now here's the twist about this whole thing: I got to work (as a hostess at a Mexican restaurant) an hour later and my mood suddenly changed from sad to moderately content. Talk about turning that frown upside down! I felt good enough to figure out how to fold the rag I use to wipe menus into a tight ball to keep my hands busy as I watched the FIFA World Cup on the bigscreen TV across from the hostess stand. Weird, right?
When I got home, I unloaded the dishwasher and sat by the firepit on the back porch with my family and cracked jokes lightheartedly like I normally do and as if nothing had happened all of today.
Bi-polar much? Scary. At least now I know to think to myelf, "No matter how depressed you feel, don't kill yourself yet, because once you go to work, you'll be just fine."
Maybe I should tell my boss I can come in more days.