Tag Archives: depression

The Denial Dial.

It’s the week between Christmas and New Year’s Eve. This week sucks, traditionally. The days are short, the air is cold, I’m often feeling less than healthy, and the blues ensue. Always, always, always. Why would this year be any different?

In some ways it’s worse. We’ll be saying goodbye to the best president I’ve known in my lifetime and ushering in the era of Trump. God DAMN it. That is just wrong. Every time I think of it, my mind starts to desperately backpedal. I’m looking for the UNDO button, and when I can’t find it and don’t want to linger on my despair, I instead hold the DENIAL dial in place. It produces a soft shhhh noise. Sometimes I have to put it on high, but it is never off. Maybe that’s unhealthy.

SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Reality is unsettling. I’m on the verge of possibly (probably?) being laid off, which is equal parts terrifying and exciting. It’s long overdue and forces me into action. I can’t stay in this apartment in Somerville without a regular paycheck – that is for certain. So, once I hear about the job officially, I’ll move in with Max in Providence. I’m very lucky to have the opportunity to do that.

So. I’ll have a warm, safe place to live with someone I love. I’ll have an opportunity to throw myself into writing, to finish some big projects, to start some new ones. Maybe I’ll make it happen this year.

Or maybe I am about to fail at life, epically, and maybe I will never-

-SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

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Winter Solstice: Celebrate Another Year of Not Going Postal (Yet)

It’s the day after the winter solstice, which — if you’re anything like me —traditionally represents the height of your winter madness and the rock-bottom of your deeply-dug “I-Hate-People” hole.

But I feel pretty ok. And it’s not because something particularly glittery or exciting has occurred in my life. Life keeps pooping along like it always does. And I’m not feeling joyous or running through the streets of Boston throwing tinsel and anything that can be tinseled. I’m still anti-tinsel. It’s not holiday mania, in other words. But I feel ok, and that is kind of remarkable.

For the last few years, I have faked my way through the holidays like a champ. I was still working on getting myself settled and divorced and yes, probably hoping that by the next Christmas my cup would run over with joy. And now I’m here. My cup runneth over with “just ok.” Or maybe my cup just runneth not with misery. My cup is legitimately fine, thank you.

Enough about my cup.

This perfect little illustration describes how I feel right now (Not mine, but borrowed from Hyperbole and a Half — a wonderful blog that I can’t recommend enough).

hyperboleandahalf

I’m feeling empowered by my state in life. Which is weird because I don’t have a lot of the stuff I’m “supposed” to have locked in. (relationship, mortgage, kids, clear sense of exactly what the rest of my life will look like, an unbroken door handle on my car, etc.) I feel like I either:

A. Accidentally stumbled upon the secret to happiness, which is to fail at life and figure out what you want.; or

B. Hit my head and am in a drug-induced coma, so none of this is actually real.

Either way, I’m just going with it. Next week, life will probably kick my ass just for being so damned cocky.

How are you all? Doing ok? 

Tuesday was a Carnival of Suck, and It’s My Fault For Getting Out of Bed

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Misstep #1: Waking up

I wanna shoot the whole day down. It just got off on the wrong foot, and then it stumbled awkwardly on that wrong foot from hour to hour like a drunk in an old-timey picture show.

First, I woke up in a crap mood. I had a dream that was vaguely boring and vaguely annoying that left me feeling equal parts bored and annoyed when I woke up.

It was cloudy outside. My pajamas felt all twisty. I could have used another hour of sleep. I was thirsty for juice, and I had no juice. What smells like onion? Everything was wrong, but it was just a bunch of inconsequential little things.

It had been foretold. Even my horoscope has been warning me to just sit this month out. Mercury is retrograde and something about eclipses forming a kind of Bermuda Triangle of unremitting badness and blah blah blah. Basically, I need to lay low until everything is done eclipsing.

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My actual horoscope.

But I don’t believe in astrology. I believe in science. So I said “to hell with this,” took a hot shower, put on a black dress and my black knee-high boots, pulled my hair back in a pony-tail and started my day like a champ.

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Ready(ish) to face the day.

Things begin to fall apart. I got in my car and noticed I was low on gas. No problem, I thought. I’ve got this. I pulled into the Hess station and filled the tank. Paid with my debit card. While I was filling the tank, I put the debit card on the trunk of my car. I distinctly remember thinking “Don’t forget the debit card. Boy would it suck to lose your debit card. Ha ha.” (We all know where this is story is headed at this point, right?)

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I got back into my car and drove in to my office. Found a space – filled the older meter with quarters. No problem! Attended a couple of meetings, got some work done, and headed back out to move my car when the 2-hour meter was up. Found a new space, parked, pulled out my wallet to pay the meter with my debit card and…IT WAS GONE OH MY GOD, YOU NEVER EXPECTED THAT, DID YOU?

I searched my car. I searched my jacket pocket. I went through every card in my wallet multiple times. I looked in every likely and unlikely place for the debit card. I knew on some level that it was gone forever — that the triangle of celestial doom had cast it’s evil hoo-doo on my debit card as punishment for my hubris.

Every stranger that passed me on Boylston Street seemed to be laughing at my woe like a Greek chorus. Taunting me.

The wind. It’s important to note that it was a particularly windy day in Copley Square. Back Bay tends to be windier than other areas of town, so on a gusty day, you can find yourself walking into the wind at a 45-degree angle, screaming — but producing no audible sound.

When I finally accepted that the debit card was gone, I fished out some quarters, fed the meter, got my little meter-sticky to attach to the inside of my driver’s side window. Just when I was affixing the meter sticky to the window, a great gust blew up from under my legs, sending my dress up, up, up and into my face, exposing my undercarriage while I struggled to hold onto the very important sticker (bought with the last of my available funds).

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The universe conspired to make this happen.

I don’t understand why Marilyn Monroe seemed to enjoy the gusty up-skirt experience. I guess she didn’t have the meter to contend with, or the astrological admonitions. All I know is that I did not look or feel glamorous in any way. I hope to Christ nobody caught it on camera.

Minutes later, a plastic shopping bag came flying toward my face as I crossed Copley Square to go to my bank. I punched it away with the grim resignation of a hardened soldier.

blah, depression, humor, plant, grey, funny

Anyone Else Having a Blah Day?

I am in a blah mood.

IMG_0318The sky is white. My blouse is grey. The temperature is neither cool nor warm and there does not appear to be a breeze of any sort blowing. I’m in no mood for this day, which is to say that I am in no mood. I lack affect or ambition. I had a protein bar and coffee for breakfast, which is my basic regular-unleaded fuel for the day – the minimum required to keep me alive.

 It’s the anniversary of September 11, which is always tinged with sadness. Maybe that’s contributing to the greyness. I don’t know.

I think I’ll just have to be at peace with the idea that today is not destined for greatness. It’s a blah day. And I feel ok.

Fuck It: In Defense of Saying ‘Uncle’

edisonThomas Edison famously claimed that genius was “One percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration.” It’s pithy, and I appreciate the sentiment — I really do. Clearly Mr. Edison was a genius and a successful man. But it also sounds to me like a relentless douchebag congratulated himself for being a such a relentless douchebag. And the world shouted “hooray,” because we love that shit.

Never give in. Never say die. Never give in the overwhelming might of the enemy. Never, never never. Never give up hope. Do not go gentle into that goodnight. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. It’s as American as apple pie and Mighty Mouse and Super-Sized energy drinks.

I am in no way a relentless douchebag. I’m a quitter.  Continue reading

Feeling Stabby? 5 Pro Tips To Help You Discreetly Unleash Your Rage

So, you’re depressed after a breakup or a hard time at work. You’re overwhelmed by an insatiable urge to smear lipstick on your face like warpaint and run into the street, screaming, crying and singing Morrissey songs. Yeah – I mean, we’ve all been there. But follow these pro tips to release that pent up energy without getting yourself stuffed in the back of a paddy wagon or counting the ceiling tiles at the psych ward.

Pro Tip 1: Stab away your troubles at lunch time. Continue reading