depression, meet your posterchild

for those of you who follow the goings-on in my life, here's a rundown.

I should preface all of this by saying that writing this in a public place like the internets is pretty hard for me, but I figure that it may keep me honest with myself if I'm honest with everyone else.

I've been suffering from depression for more than 10 years now. I am not currently medicated, and have never really consistently medicated myself. this isn't such a big deal, depression. or I suppose I should say that it isn't big news. I know lots of people who have suffered it, too, and many close friends and family have had success with medication, or exercise and diet, or both, managing to push aside the dark, heavy blanket of depression and walk into their lives again. I say this to illustrate that depression is a manageable thing.

I, however, have not been successful. in fact, I have been one big failure after another, only succeeding for short spurts to rise above this monster and complete day-to-day tasks without a giant sense of DREAD. (I capitalize it because it is that big and heavy. DREAD is not something you toss off-handed.) I have spent semester after semester barely getting by in some classes and flat-out failing in others, spending more time in bed than I do in the classroom, "escaping" in sleep, sometimes only escaping in sleeplessness. even the days I do attend find me sitting in class with my eyes half-open, my mind unable to focus. I have let the chores pile up until the last possible second, but always leaving myself hours to prepare to face them. I've shut myself up in my house, terrified that someone might drop by unannounced. I've ignored phone calls to avoid the pain of thinking of things to talk about besides how AWFUL I feel.

I've spent the last several years generally making plans only as far as the next day, fearful that the pressure caused by piling too many things on my plate will explode me right back into bed. I've retreated onto the internet, preferring the screen of your monitor behind which to unravel over the intimacy and vulnerability of personal contact, my anxiety levels rocketing without the aid of social lubricants. speaking of which, I've relied too heavily on bourbon, wine, and/or beer to get me through an evening out. I've invited this third party along as my spouse, tethering myself to its side and letting it say all the witty and seemingly happy things that I cannot.

I spend hours a day fantasizing about a zipper that travels from the top of my head to the small of my back, a short pull-tab away from shedding the skin I spend so much time being uncomfortable in. I feel grossly heavy and groggy, but most of the time am unable to sleep at night, grabbing a few hours here and there, and leaving the rest for my mid-morning ritual of Sleeping All Responsibility Away. just so you know, so far that hasn't worked.

I've spent little time crying. most of my emotions are too wrapped up in the heebie jeebies I have about being who I am to be sad about it. I'm scared all the time. I'm deeply angry that I can't be someone who just fucking Gets Stuff Done. I'm pissed that I can't plow through the work that I need to do, I'm irate that there is never a light at the end of the tunnel for me, I'm furious that the woman lying underneath could do anything she wanted if all this depression wrapped around me didn't appear so seamless.

so there it is. depression. that's how I feel. that's how I've been feeling for a very long time. I'm hoping that one day I will not feel this way. I'm currently in the process of working up the nerve to try to improve things. I feel like my life is important, and I think that the woman underneath would appreciate the chance to enjoy it.

hello, dirty thirty. I've been waiting for you.

I am currently nursing a hangover. big fucking deal.

so I'm thirty now, people. I've survived my twenties. I made it out alive, and even 100% disease-free!! grace, kerry, and I discussed earlier the t-shirt alternative, "I slept around in my 20's and all I got was this lousy STD." ***it should be noted that while we obviously have loads of class, we do NOT have any STDs. anyway, I was pretty worried about turning thirty. I've found lots of gray hairs in the past year, I'm single, I haven't graduated, I still haven't lost the weight I've been talking about losing for the past decade. I was kind of hoping to start my thirties with a clean slate. but there's something new year's resolution-y about that, and I'm experienced enough to know that I never accomplish anything when I apply super high expectations on myself all at once. that's an awful lot to live up to. so what's the answer? one day at a time, motherfuckers.

if I can manage not to expect myself to be perfect every day, then it's that much sweeter when I DO reach my goal. I'm not saying I should lounge around smoking cigarettes and shoveling ben & jerry's into my mouth, only to pat myself on the back on the days I actually leave my couch to take a shit. what I DO mean is that if I spend less time punishing myself for my failures, which by the way haven't included shitting my pants in YEARS, I can spend more time enjoying my successes. and that stuff can eventually snowball into generally feeling good about where I am in life, so that when someone asks me, "you're thirty? why aren't you already married?" I don't feel like there are so many "failures" to consider. instead, I can explain that I haven't yet met anyone that can handle this awesomeness, and goddamn, if you meant that as a way of telling me I'm attractive, you sure as hell are too clumsy to handle it, too. asshat.

anyway, I have a plan. the plan is to enjoy life, not regret it. it will still be a struggle, and I will make lots and lots of mistakes. so sue me.

the good news is that I'm learning. the bad news is that I may have to work hair dye into the monthly budget.

Jones BBQ and Foot Massage

please go here

I've been smoke-free for 3 months now. I think I can officially call myself a non-smoker. hooray!

things I've learned today

1. if you list yourself as engaged to a woman on facebook but are not actually a lesbian, old friends who don't know better will then stare at your "fiancee" at walgreens.

2. ocean spray cranberry juice is no better for you than a can of soda.

3. white people really DO love the wire.

4. having a nose ring and a runny nose simultaneously kind of sucks.

5. homework always comes last.

confessions of a smoker

tonight was the first night it was REALLY hard to be a quitter. I started off the early evening being relatively busy at work, but then it dwindled down to a mere table at a time, and the crossword was a bit too hard to keep my attention. I waited on a few tables outside, but as usual, the time spent in the smoky outdoor area was only enough to remind me how much it stinks. seeing the glamorous way in which pretty ladies held their cigarettes through the windows, however, was tempting. also, once we got busy, it would have been nice to take a "breather," no matter how tainted the air may have been, outside for a moment or two. I find that smoking is often a great icebreaker for me as well. it's a good common denominator for me with my tables. I'm often left with nothing to talk about because my tableside manner, if you will, is quite unimaginative.

once I entered the REAL social world, I decided that certain environments were too much for me to handle. that is, the p&h, in all it's smoke-friendly glory (which I once thought of as a redeeming quality), seemed too big of a temptation. instead I went to bosco's, where it seems 2 beers are enough to get me drunk. I then went to the hitone, had a couple more [unnecessary] beers, and talked openly about how hard it was to kick this cigarette addiction. I refuse to call it a nicotine addiction. nicotine is okay, but I've never smoked for the relief of nicotine. in my life, mostly I've smoked to extract or distract myself from some situation I don't think I should have to deal with. it;s nice to get up from a table with a cigarette as an excuse.

currently I have "DON'T SMOKE." written on the top of my hand. it's a lovely and legible reminder that I want to be done with that part of my life. no more stupid excuses.

shouldn't the bad movie club watch look who's talking too?