From the famous depressive Charles M. Schulz:
“My life has no purpose, no direction, no aim, no meaning, and yet I’m happy. I can’t figure it out. What am I doing right?”
I try not to begrudge myself happiness just because I don’t have anything to show for my day. Sometimes it helps to have paid the rent, to have made dinner or have gone to work. Today I was so ill that I found myself looking down at the ground as I was out walking. I saw some lovely clover. I was tempted to sit on the sidewalk of 15th Ave to see if I could find a four leafed one but I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get up. Usually I walk with too much speed to see the details of things but I suspect I still see much more than those who are driving. I guess I am like the clover in that I am just waiting for someone so sick and tired that they see me.
Don’t worry. I only have a sinus infection and laryngitis but physical illness does kick depression into 1st gear. I know I blog for the same reason I perform theatre. I need not to disappear. This thought is fueled by an anxiety which takes the form of shocking chatter, inappropriate dancing and brightly colored fashions.
Some depressed people dress in black. I have silver hair and wrinkles so that is not an option. I think of myself as a long icicle. I live in Alaska so I will not melt as quickly. I am not the obvious depressed person, well maybe not completely obvious. I am counter-phobically depressed. People tell me “don’t do, just be.” Thanks, but there are some of us who need to be outside in the sun and breeze just to survive. We also need to connect to others with some sort of feedback or we fall pray to fantasy lives which make Game of Thrones look like Gumby.
Blogging gives me some positive feedback as well as perspective. In my head I am a funny, talented, beautiful woman with an amazing life ahead of her. Then only two people like my post. No one responds to my clever profile on OurTime.com. I wind up so emotionally drained from being a therapist that I choose to count luggage at a hotel for my summer job. I know many things about luggage now and a little bit about hotels. I am still learning about who I am each day and that I change as fast as America’s Top Models.
One day I think I might be good at HR. The next day I am thinking Substance Abuse work then Mediation. I guess this happens to other people in their fifties. I am a reaction to my mother who felt herself defined by her children and at a loss to start finding herself outside of fashion, performing and crazy comments. Notice that in this case every action is followed by an equal and similar reaction. Really my challenge is to wait until more is revealed. That is the great thing about blogging. I never know how much I’m going to reveal until I’m done. It is a form of sleuthing that can be shared with others. Blogging is a cheap form of the essay, except the topic is always me, or what I notice and what that says about me!
Despite my moods. There are parts of myself which have been pretty stable through the years. I don’t trust being tied down …. yet, maybe never. This happens to some people who lose their parents early. It also happens to people with high anxiety and those who got mixed messages about taking care of themselves, like women. I have always used humor to transform my foul moods into something that passes as normal most times and as genius on a good day. I supplemented my college and graduate school degrees with Clown school and Comedy college. Going to school did not give me more knowledge really, just more confidence. I’ve heard it said that only the most anxious people go to grad school and I highly agree!
I am taking this weird course called Blogging 101 because I am supposed to be memorizing lines for a show but I don’t feel like it. I like my own lines better. So I will be blogging more and I hope sneezing less. I am probably never going to be a neat, detail oriented blogger but I do pride myself on getting down to the essence of things. It’s not my job to write. I just show up and let God or whoever is in charge do the work. That’s why I can never quite figure out why I’m here. Not God, barely human and full of mucus at that.