You guys know when I say “Hey guys!” I’m only ever saying it in a weird Romy from “Romy and Michele” voice, right?
Thank you all so much for the support, encouragement, and personal stories after my TMI post last week. The love I felt was truly soothing to my raw soul. I was feeling so exhausted, I just really needed to put everything out there.
I’m feeling better now. While I was sick, I got pretty sloppy with my usual medications, and I think that, combined with hardly sleeping for two weeks while I was coughing, just provided a perfect storm for my brain to malfunction. So, while everything was off balance from missing so many pills and being run down by the bronchitis, my depression saw an opportunity and took it, and then I was oversleeping, and that makes you feel extra terrible. Blah.
I’m over explaining things right now. I just like to try and nail down what went wrong, so I can avoid it in the future.
When we lived in LA for a few years, my life was like that nearly every day. That was the longest low period I’d ever had, and now that I’m out of it, it scares me to be back there. I never want to be back to a place where I can accept my illness as a long term lifestyle. Does that make sense? I know I have to accept it as a long term part of my life, but I don’t have to live the life it demands. I want it to bend to my will, not the other way around. Suicide isn’t the only way to give up when it comes to mental illness.
We took a trip to SF for Jason’s work over the end of last week and the weekend, and I used the time to be in a different environment, in a different climate, away from all my usual day to day responsibilities, to try to reset. The change in scenery, and the escape from the stifling heat in a place I feel comfortable was all so helpful. I’d already been back on my Cymbalta, regularly, for nearly two weeks, so things started to level out.
While we were there, I got some exercise the first night when the fire alarm went off at 2:00 in the morning, and we had to get out of bed to climb down all 28 floors worth of stairs. And I did it, holding the dog like a GOTDANG HERO. That was more cardio than I’d EVER like to get at any one time, but hey, endorphins are good for you. I spent the rest of my days there, walking around on JELL-O legs, buying myself fancy sandwiches, getting room service, shopping, doing my nails, napping without guilt, reading, watching terrible movies, and just trying to be good to myself, in near solitude. In the evenings, I’d leisurely do my makeup, get dressed, and go out riding in the backs of town cars and Escalades to parties and dinners with Jason and his wonderful, hilarious, and friendly coworkers and bosses. It felt so good to be out of my usual routine.
I made the decision to make all my decisions without judgment. Like, the day I ate Pringles for lunch instead of going to get something because I just didn’t feel like putting pants on, or the decision to eat a cookie that was nearly the size of a dinner plate, or when I went shopping and just bought the things I wanted without hemming and hawing. Giving myself permission to literally do anything I wanted, was the best thing I could do for myself while we were there. My depression gets me locked into this frustrating place of indecision, and my anxiety makes me weigh every possible outcome of everything I do. I gave myself all yes or no options. Put pants on? No. Eat this giant cookie? YES. Rewatch “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull?” Yes. Remember, NO JUDGMENT.
Overall, I feel so much better than I have the last month. I feel sort of stupid now for letting you all in on what was happening, but I didn’t want anyone to think I was letting this site go. I’m not 100% yet, but I’ve definitely turned a corner.
I bought a bunch of drugstore lipsticks, one Urban Decay lipstick, and some E.L.F. stuff, so that will all be making its way to you soon.
Thank you for hanging with me through this. I promise to try to make it worth your while! And please, if my struggle has taught us anything, let it be that sometimes, you just have to eat the biggest cookie you’ve ever seen and feel pretty fucking good about it. Big cookies taste so much better when every bite isn’t laced with guilt.
EDITED TO ADD: If my struggle has really taught us anything, let it be that reaching out can only help.