Analyze This

Since my post yesterday, and after reading the link in its comments, I’ve been thinking of how to describe, for myself, what my mental status is like.

Depression seems so black and white.

Anxiety seems so alarming.

Let’s see…

I am the kind of person who is unable to hear or remember or absorb much of anything other than the negative comments made to me, about me, within me.  I will obsess for weeks over a grammar flub or a misplaced giggle during someone’s venting.  I can’t turn that off.

So, then I try to turn it out.  I focus negativity on those around me, people on the road, at the grocery store, my husband, my kids.  But that just makes me feel even more like a horrible person, and so I just retreat altogether.

Through reading, writing, drinking, watching TV or movies, sleeping, eating…  Anything that will blank out my own thoughts and feelings.  I’ve always had an elaborate fantasy life (and I don’t mean that I play RPGs or that I have a closet full of fetish gear).  I mean that since I was a little kid with imaginary friends, I’ve been taking day dreaming to an art form.

I think that’s what most writers do, and it makes so much sense to me that so many writers suffer depression as well.  It’s escapism. 

This doesn’t mean that I don’t find enjoyment in those things, because of course I do.  This doesn’t mean that I don’t put on my best Scroogy Face and interact when necessary, even doing a fairly passable job at socializing.

It’s just a shell.  An act.  Like I’m on autopilot.

Soon, I look around and realize it’s been a week since I’ve swept or vacuumed and my laundry remains unfolded in the basket and my kids are running rampant and my husband barely says a word to me.

I realize that I haven’t been there. 

That’s what I mean by dark, lost, shapeless.  Undefined. 

Unreal.

I know that this too shall pass, that there will be brighter days.

But in case yesterday’s post was less than clear, there ya go…

 

 

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I’m tired

I’m tired of being…  of being…

Um…

I am tired of being…

Yes, that’s it, I guess.

I’m just tired of being.

No, I’m not suicidal (I’m WAY too nosy to kill myself).  I’m just not sure how to end that sentence appropriately.

My brain mind soul psyche sits ready to unleash a stream of vitriol to end that statement- words that feel right, but are just wrong.  I know LOGICALLY they are wrong.

Mental health is so puzzling.  I was feeling pretty good just this weekend.  And now, I feel so lost and dark and shapeless. 

Yeah, shapeless.  Undefined.

I’m tired of being undefined.

 

Mommy Finished

This past weekend was significant in Scroogyland, not just because it was Mother’s Day, but also because my daughters saw me cross the finish line of my first 5K.

It brings tears to my eyes to think of it, Peeps.

Me, Scroogy- far from athletic- finished a run.  (Well, more of a walk/jog- heavy on the walk, but still…)

Lala and Loopsy waited for me, with their grandparents and their Daddy, at the finish of Saturday’s Color Run here in Baltimore.

They witnessed their Mom -television addict, usually found reading novel after novel on the couch or spending hours on the computer writing or playing Candy Crush- finish something she’d set out to do last summer.  Mommy got ready for, and ultimately finished, a 5K.

Without having a heart attack or passing out or spraining anything.

I’ll never forget how proud I felt when I saw them and heard them calling for me as I jogged under the inflatable Finish arch, covered in layers of colored dust, sweaty, and a little red in the face. 

Girls, if you read this one day, this is what I want you to remember:

Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t or that you shouldn’t.  Not even yourselves.

Don’t let people judge you for your size or your looks or your past.  Not even that voice in your head.

If you work hard, if you stick to anything, you can finish what you start.  You can do or be anything.  You can beat any odds, meet any goals you set for yourself.

I love you girls.  This 5K was for you.

The next one is for me.

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