Is It Depression or Is It A Terrible Mattress?

The other night was a study in mouth-inflamed terror.
No, that isn't one of my wondrous hyperbole. My mouth hurt like the body of a vampire trapped in the Vatican at high noon.
Since I feel like that involves some background: Wisdom Teeth.

Anyway, so I went to WebMD to see if there was something I could do short of DIY oral surgery to relieve the pain.
Right there on the homepage was a test to determine whether or not you had depression.
Why not, I thought, this seems like a fun waste of time. I was expecting a double-blind 600 question personality test that would examine my psyche like Freud's ghost mixed with some sort of futuristic omnipotent God-machine.
Instead I got myself a 10 question, single page waste of thirty seconds.

The first question asked me if I had trouble sleeping. Well yea, of course I do. I am a recent college graduate with no solid job prospects, mounting debt, and a four-year-old habit of staying up til 5 am funneling whiskey down my throat as fast as I can. If worries don't keep me conscious the niggling feeling that I should really be drunk and listening to Modest Mouse right now will.

Also my mattress sucks. It's a bit too hard and I can't get comfortable and its big enough for two pillows, but I inevitably find myself unable to sleep in the cozy center of the bed because then my head is between the two pillows and therefore lacking cushioning.

Question two: Does your back hurt?
Why yes, yes it does, and that must be because all the aforementioned terrors in my life which keep me awake are starting to actually gain physical weight which rests on my shoulders like a gorilla hypnotized to think it's a parrot and that I am Captain Jack Sparrow.

Also my mattress sucks and therefore I spent the night on a lightly pillowed bed of glass, nails, and scorpions with epilepsy. Which makes it impossible to get comfortable and puts a banjo-styled twinge in my neck and spine. Which keeps me from sleeping.

Question three: Are you lethargic during the day?
Yes, I am, because the overwhelming hopelessness of my life and my lack of a future that doesn't involve slinging dope on a cold street corner for pennies while I watch the world around me decay because of my greed stops me from ever finding the energy to try to achieve anything better.

Also my mattress sucks and I can't sleep because it's so uncomfortable and my back hurts because of it so even my moments of waking rest are devoid of any recuperative properties because I might as well just connect myself to an electric fence that causes my muscles to spasm repeatedly so that every moment of my life feels like I just finished climbing a damn mountain.

Question four: Do you not take join in activities you used to love?
Yes, because what is the point of trying to find happiness when inevitably I will die cold and alone buried in a coffin stitched together from cardboard burger boxes from McDonalds, stuck in the ground with a number on my tombstone because I had to be buried by the state for lack of funds and I pawned my identity to a Bulgarian immigrant two years ago so they didn't even know my name.

Also my mattress sucks and I am too tired and in too much discomfort to be bothered to go to a loud bar or try to write because the moment I sit down to try to write a story all I can think is "Some codeine would really be awesome now" and any moments of freedom and solitude I get are spent wondering if maybe I could fit a nap in because I am exhausted because I can't sleep because my mattress sucks!

The only question that seemed tailored solely to those who might be depressed was the one that asked if I often thought about murdering myself, and really if you can answer yes to that one what was the point of asking the others?

Suicidal Sam: God, I want to off myself and every night I fantasize about that one perfect steak knight and the way it gleams in the moonlight. However, I am sleeping great, doing all the things I love with limitless supplies of energy and never experience any back pain even while carrying my backpack filled with condoms and liquor across Europe, so I must not be really depressed, because even though I really cannot wait to feel the freeing kiss of steel against my wrists I own a really great mattress.

I cannot conceive of a person who dreams of the day when they can cut their wrists and shuffle off this painful mortal coil who isn't depressed, or else a fourteen year old boy who just got stood up at the dance.

And if a person who is suicidal really just needs a good night's sleep to keep from being considered 'depressed' maybe every psychologist in the world should be retrained as a sleep number salesman.