I don’t know where this idea came from. That I am all either one thing or the other. Either depressed and using happiness as a cover or happy and never feeling the real crippling emptiness of depression. Surely you are not all one thing or another. Maybe there are no covers.
I’m terrified and miserable. I’m confident and exuberant. Not because I’m bipolar, but because people are fluid. Not everything is a symptom, kid. Sometimes it’s just how you’re feeling. Maybe your default state isn’t anything. Maybe life is neutral.
There’s always one more thing to do. One more counter to wipe down. One more bag of trash. There’s always one more email to answer or one more article to read. One more picture to look at on Facebook. One more thing to write. One more piece to edit. One more text message that needs attention. One more light to turn off. To turn back on again.
“Hold on. Real quick. Just one more thing.” Always busy. Always moving, sorting, doing.
I set aside time every night to stop. To sit. To give into the quiet and the stillness. It’s important. My doctor told me so. I make the time. I work it in. Fifteen minutes. It’s all scheduled. All laid out perfect so I can get to bed by ten. Get up in the morning at a quarter to six. Constant lists of things to do. A month’s worth of runs and gym trips planned in advance. Coffee dates and grocery shopping. Showers and mascara application. It all has its special timeframe. I wonder what I end up missing. The things that would happen if I let myself just be. Just do nothing. Sit with myself and just breathe. Spontaneous peace. Continue reading →
I find myself looking for someone else to tell me what I’m doing is good. Is important. Is valuable. I keep trying to convince myself I’m intrinsically motivated, but I don’t trust my own opinion enough. I’d like to be. I want to be. But maybe only because I’ve heard other people say I should. I wonder if there’s a right way to do anything. If there is an answer to, “What should I focus on? What should I pour attention into?” I wonder if there is ever an answer to a “should” question at all.
Even now. I’m spending all my time writing. Reaching out and connecting. I’m doing the hard work. I’m growing and I find it fulfilling. But when I get home at night I still look at Mason with puppy-eyes and hope he’ll agree this is significant. I still feel like it doesn’t count if people don’t share the stuff I write, don’t comment, don’t hit “like”. As if what I get out of it is somehow tied to what you get out of it. Continue reading →