I am trying. My brain SO wants me to be depressed. And hey look, I’m not totally unreasonable. We compromised: be depressed and lousy at everything for awhile, ruminate and wallow a bit, sleep too much and sort things into bins labeled “reasons to worry” and “reasons to give up” and “minutia you might like to focus on while ignoring everything that matters.” But only for the winter. That was the deal. We agreed.
But spring — well, you know technically winter isn’t over until April or something idiotic, and does it count as winter if we have to wear sweaters at night? NO, it doesn’t count as winter. If a person couldn’t reasonably expect to see an adorable animal frolicking in the snow on that’s month’s calendar page then it’s not winter anymore. It’s time to cheer the hell up. I decided.
Are you tired of feeling anxious and exhausted? Ask your doctor if just deciding not to be depressed anymore is right for you! So she can laugh at you and increase your dose of Zoloft to the maximum for any mammal who weighs — how much? step on the scale please. With your shoes on or off, it doesn’t matter because we don’t even know how to work these stupid slidey things, we are just going to clang them all around until they say OH. Oh wow, you have gained weight, haven’t you? Maybe do take your shoes off after all? Sorry, it’s just — man. MAN. So yeah, take two of these a day and we are making a note in your chart to remind the nurses to follow up in a few weeks and in the meantime they will be sure to comment on and cackle about all of your many annoying flaws as soon as you leave. Like for one thing, you have this social anxiety thing that is very unflattering.
So dosage adjusted. Motivation slowly returned and every day I tried to do something to makes things less worse and more better. No huge goals, of course, because to my core I am a brat and will rebel against anything that sounds like anyone trying to be the boss of me. Even – no, especially! myself. So instead of making big promises all I would say was “I’m trying to do less of the wrong things and more of the right things.”
Ferreted out the parts of Nerdy Baby that were causing stress. Took those products out behind the barn, patted them on the head, told them about the pretty rabbits, and shot em. It was self defense! Textile products were low-margin, high-stress products that were trying to kill me.
I did love them, but they had to go.
Took back ownership of Amazon sales. Thanks for playing, wholesale vendor account. You do not spark joy and this mentally ill woman on the street yelled at me that I should only keep things that spark joy. Opening my email to a flurry of Amazon purchase orders sparked nausea. That’s not okay, even if it is profitable.
A little at a time. This is the way, little steps. Still sometimes sleep til one or eat ice cream for dinner but day by day I’ve been working hard to get better. A little bit more of the right thing, less of the wrong thing.
Now it’s summer. Hot. Definitely not winter, depression isn’t even trying to debate that anymore. I realized the other day that I feel optimistic and… oh wow, happy. Just like the stupid whore depression sneaks in gradually, happiness does the same thing. A little on a Tuesday, neutral on Wednesday, a difficult Thursday then a weirdly excellent Friday until something tips and there are more good minutes than bad.
I’m losing weight. Here is my amazing diet plan: late at night when I crave a bowl of ice cream or something decadent, I substitute the high-calorie snack with a satisfying but low-calorie serving of shutting up and going the hell to bed like a goddamned adult.
I found a place that will cut my hair without making me feel like a weird awkward annoyance. I have issues, decided the girl who cuts everyone’s hair doesn’t like me. Liked my pixie but liked not feeling like a bother even more. BUT in my improperly medicated state of mind, calling other salons to find someone was intimidating. Something about the bored tone of the front-desk girls at Toni and Guy made me feel terrible and unpopular. Yes this is 100% me being neurotic, but still. It meant I had to grow my hair out.
But! Salons that are SCHOOLS, oh ho ho! I don’t feel like a bother there. I’m helping someone learn! Helping feels good! No awkwardness, just a lot of hours but that’s okay.
I’m getting rid of stuff, building new friendships, focusing on the people who live here and you know what? Right now life holds way more of the right stuff, almost none of the wrong stuff. At this rate I’ll be ready to break the sound barrier before winter
What? Sorry. See? Little steps.