I feel I need to mention that my last OB dyed his hair black and on regular occasion missed enormous graying chunks. He sang a little song to the nurses in the delivery room as he was suiting up to get Addie out and he had a total Tom Selleck mustache.
I’m taller than my current OB, weighed more than him when I was 12 years old and he has crazy Willem Dafoe eyes. He also sports a curly gray mullet.
(I’m not going to mention the OB/GYN that thought it was an excellent idea to put me on Lupron. Besides, he was boring looking with a dead fish handshake and a striking resemblance to my sister’s ex-boyfriend. Well. Okay, so I just mentioned him, but parenthetically so it doesn’t count as much.)
I’ve been thinking a lot about how to be depressed. I mean, it’s inevitable and recurring for so many people so we may as well be good at it, right? Since there’s no snapping out of it and it will eventually end (seriously, it will end.) I may as well have a battle plan in place so I don’t try to do too much or maybe even worse, do too little.
Cody always tells me to “distract myself” so I’m not sitting around wallowing (sleeping) in my sorrows. Distracting yourself when you have very little interest in the world around you can prove to be difficult, but there are a few things that work for me. One of them being cleaning my laptop. It’s very cathartic to go through and delete duplicate files, format your hard drive and back up your entire computer to an external hard drive. I may not have control over my mental hard drive, but I can own my macbook’s. I also do my nails. Not anything fancy. Just trimming, filing and painting with clear polish. Doesn’t require much movement but leaves me with tangible evidence that not everything about me is ugly. (I normally involve my toes too but it’s getting really difficult to reach them.)
Now TV and the Internet can be detrimental to anyone struggling in their brain. I realized a long time ago that violent movies and television shows deeply affect me. As much as my crush on Christopher Meloni rings strong and true, I cannot watch Law & Order SVU. I also do not watch rated R movies, even when I feel okay. I truly believe that sheltering my brain from the sights and sounds of anger, profanity and violence benefits me immensely. However, there are plenty of good shows out there that don’t have a negative affect on me (The Ellen Show for example) and when things are really bad, there’s this entire subgenre of dance/music/talent fight movies that are horribly entertaining to me yet require no emotional involvement on my behalf. (See: Drum Line, Stomp the Yard, Bring it On, Stick It, Center Stage, Step Up, Step Up 2 and the latest cinematic achievement, Step Up 3D.)
Same rules above apply to books. (Which is why Stieg Larsson books are not on my “to read” list. I realize a lot of you will argue “BUT THEY’RE SO GOOD!” I believe you. But they’re not good for me.)
Many of you have to get up and go to work. Many of you miss work because of mental illness, which leaves you at home, horizontal. Sleeping the day away. I get it. Sleep is the single best escape when your brain is hurting and broken. I really have no advice here…because I love sleep. But at least try to distract yourself first, or between naps. And eat. And shower. (Crying in the shower is way better than a lot of other places you could be crying, doesn’t matter if your face gets all splotchy and snotty, it washes right off. And the temptation to use your pillowcase, sleeve or dirty laundry as a tissue is taken away. You’re also alone. Usually. I’m looking at you Addie.)
I am medicated. Unfortunately one of the major side effects is nausea so I’ve been thrown back into bucket hugging mode for the time being. I also feel it very important to say that I hate, H-A-T-E going to the doctor for help. Especially a new doctor. I’m grateful that they are there, but never once have I skipped into an office with joy thinking “OH GOODY! ANOTHER STRANGER I GET TO TELL MY DEEPEST DARKEST FEARS AND THOUGHTS TO!” And medication. I hate it. I hate taking that pill. I hate that I need it. I always have. It’s never gotten easier, even when I know that it is not my fault that I feel this way. So for those of you who hate getting help and taking that pill too? You’re not alone.
I am getting better. And I have every single one of you to thank for it.
So thank you.