#342: THE BIG D
Before I get into my joy-filled Monday, I want to share a weblog with you. In fact, I might start doing this regularly, because I like sharing sometimes.
Now, go read 72hrchikdom, because she's funny, and I like looking at that cute picture she has of herself on her sidebar, so you might, too.
I wasn't going to write about this, because I have been concentrating on the positive these days. I have been working really hard at it. I mean it. Working. Really. Hard. I think I was kind of trying not to notice how hard I had to work at it.
I have been knocked on my ass by the Big D once again. Goddammit. In between bouts of depression, I almost always convince myself that going back into this state would be nigh on impossible. I get all puffy in the chest, so self-satisfied over my own happiness that I fool myself into thinking I had something to do with it. When I find myself back inside the depression, I manage to convince myself conversely that the happiness was mere delusion.
I had today off work, being as it's Monday, and I chose to have Mondays off throughout this entire month. I thought that I would spend today sleeping in and relaxing around the house and eating bad food and writing something or other creative. It wasn't such an odd thing to expect. I've developed a whole a string of Mondays that all look like that. I should have known better when I took note of the telltale signs of tension headache, nervousness, excessive worry, shallow breathing, and inability to concentrate..
I have become increasingly obsessive over the last couple of weeks. I get a couple of thoughts rolling around about something that is causing me stress, and then KABOOM! every other bit of my brain that was still functioning half way decently cuts out on me. Until yesterday evening, I was able to divert my attention to other matters when it became too much, but now I seem to be stuck in an endless, anxious loop. This loop tells me that I can't go to work, that I can't leave the apartment, that I am not loved, that these feelings should be kept hidden, that there are no tomorrows, that this is always.
This is bullshit, true, but don't stop me yet. It gets better.
The Fiery One called me this afternoon and told me that it was beautiful outside and that I should leave the apartment and go for a walk. He insisted that I do something nice for myself. I complied. I took a shower and walked to the store for some good Big D food: chips and dip. I concentrated on my breathing, I made sure to acknowledge the warmth of the sun, I slowed down my pace in order to mimick one who is out for a pleasurable stroll. I did my best to affect the demeanour of a perfectly okay individual going for a perfectly okay walk to the grocery store.
I found out that I really suck at play-acting that I'm okay, though, because when I passed this old guy, he said "oh, hey, hello to you, too", as though I had said hello, which I hadn't at all, because I WAS HAVING A CONVERSATION WITH MYSELF. IN THE STREET.
I know, this happens to many of us human types. We forget ourselves now and again. It's just far less disturbing to forget yourself on one of those happy-like-no-tomorrow days than it is on one of those days in which you feel as though your whole body is a dry paper bag attempting to manipulate a rickety set of stilts.
Didn't I say that this would get better? I suppose it could. Let's see..... I made it home safe and sound without breaking down in the crackers aisle. (Did you know that there is an enitre aisle comprised of crackers, cookies, and potato chips? Having one-eighth of the grocery store dedicated to reconstituted corn and wheat wafers seems a little excessive to me). It was gorgeous out, and the walk home was less panicked than the walk there. The onion dip was delicious. Faux Aussi just called to share the news of the arrival of his second daughter yesterday. I called the Fiery One to share the joy, and he suggested that we get something from our favourite Vietnamese restaurant for supper. And just now, I poured myself a delicious finger of Fr@ngelico neat. If the Fiery One remembers to bring home some muscle relaxants, things just might get groovy enough to gloss over this whole day.