Held up in a deep mood sinking un-breathing pit of “you’ve been there so I don’t need to say”…Here’s how I deal for the time being.
2. Gummy worms
3. Cheap, cheap pizza. I eat it while my dog stares at me, smiling.
4. I keep remember this guy I loved, I LOVED loved and he committed to this art exchange things we would do where literature would fly between our phones, pictures and recitations. Promise-poems and philosophical nonsense and true love, I think it was true love. But, we weren’t ourselves. We were weird characters who lived in a world where language was currency. And we were millionaires. I keep indulging in my memory of how much I loved him. Even though it ended horribly. The memory is fine.
5. And he once rambled at me about wine. He loved wine. I drink wine.
7. Long stares at the computer. Someone sends me an email and I stare, taking time to acknowledge how idiotic work exchanges are, how cowardly people can be and how little I care.
9. Audiobooks. First-person narratives. I just finished Caroline Keynes’ You and I intend on listening to the entire series. Addictive.
10. Graphic novels. Library borrows. So worth the walk to the library.
11. Cold showers.
13. “Real Housewives” series, old episodes (the new ones are weird, it’s like everyone is way too well aware that they are on TV)
14. Yelling. But. It’s weird, it’s sort of best to yell in front of someone. It usually comes out when we’re alone but there’s no consequence for that and so the behaviour has no…boundary or something. Today, someone was taking a right turn off the highway and no one ever looks where they’re turning, I have witnessed many many people turn without looking and usually I stop to let them turn before I cross the street even when it’s my light. But today, I didn’t stop. Instead, I turned and flipped him off and yelled FUCK YOU. I felt terrible afterwords. He was a young guy, younger than me by at least ten years. I know, if he’s decent at all, I messed up his day. And from that, I learn not to yell as much. When I’m a long and I start yelling, it never stops.
15. I don’t have anything else. I wish I had a number 15 but I guess the final indulgence would be writing blog posts. I hate to be unhelpful. I wish I was constantly on the other side of depression, able to look people in the eye and promise that there are better days. But, I don’t actually know if there is another side. It’s more like peaks and valleys. Some people say we should be distracting ourselves while the mood passes and I think that’s true. But then, when it isn’t passing or when it keeps hitting harder and harder, the best thing to do is approach your thoughts with honesty. Yeah, they’re horrible. Tell someone or, at least, write it somewhere and let it fly.