“He’s even curtailed his auto-erotic activities.”

Woman reading the news and shouting, "That baby was mowing the damn lawn!"

I need to stop reading the news.  It’s killing me.  I don’t know how I slid back into my old habit of perusing and cross-checking multiple sources online a few times a day.  It doesn’t matter.  I need to refrain entirely for a while.  I looked at my face in the mirror today.  I’m not very visually oriented, probably because my vision sucks.  I usually glance without seeing, but today, I saw.

I look like I haven’t slept in a few days.  I’m dehydrated, nauseated, and depressed.  I’m also excited about upcoming concerts, hella resilient, and an expert at functioning despite discomfort and despair.  I sometimes wish I could find solace in sleep at these times, but it’s no friend of mine.  Instead, I must push myself to engage in specific activities until the issue resolves.  Fortunately, I’ve had lots of practice.

It used to frighten me whenever I felt this way.  I resent how long it took me to overcome the fear.  Now, it annoys me at most.  I’m usually reasonably good at training my brain to do what I want, but sometimes, I need lots of repetition before it clicks.  Fighting off depression is one of those times.  It took a long time to train myself never to presume humanity in others.  It was painful to learn, but not nearly as much as not knowing better.

I forced myself to practice my drums earlier.  I love to play, but when I’m depressed, it’s incredibly difficult to make myself do it.  I had fun, just as I knew I would.  There’s a new mix of Solo by Clean Bandit, ft. Demi Lovato.  I hated it the first time I heard it, but when I accidentally played it again, I discovered I love it.  I also enjoyed drumming to Ghost by Jaden Smith.  depression

I’m rehydrating so that I can hit the treadmill later.  Running in place is remarkably helpful when I’m so low.  I used to be able to throw a pity party and wallow a bit before I fought my way out from under a mountain of despair.  Eventually, I reached a point where I recognized feeling sorry for myself is also hysterically funny, which ruined it.  Heh.  (Pretending Wanda Sykes and Jerry Seinfeld were riffing off my negative thoughts did the trick.)

Now I work it out as quickly as possible and get back to my life.  I slept beneath my weighted blanket last night.  It felt like cold water and central air after crossing a desert.  M is out of town with his cousins, geeking out over the world cup.  They were astonished I can’t name a single team and wasn’t confident which sport.  I told them I enjoy watching sports exactly as much as they enjoy listening to me talk about AI.  I’m a wee bit embarrassed to report they grokked that immediately.  😂  (Noted.)

It was hot yesterday; my pink Puma’s melted.  I thought I stepped in some gum or something.  Then I realized the soles of my shoes were sticking to the concrete and melting off.  They were old enough the white treads were turning a bit yellow, but damn.  So I threw them away and ordered a new pair.  (I have a one out, one in policy with most things now.)  New shoes are almost as mighty against depression as viewing I’ma Be Me by Wanda Sykes.  🙃 💜

 

Puma sneakers

2 thoughts on ““He’s even curtailed his auto-erotic activities.”

  • I have days like this, and sleep is not my friend. I just finally managed to get 6 hours after a 72 hour stent of “activities” all of my stuff I do. This consists of so many things I do to distract myself from thinking about the things I don’t want to think about and also not feeling the physical pain I live with (I prefer to ignore that I have emotional pain-so not healthy right?). Exercise through the pain has become my motto and I do not allow anyone to control or abuse me anymore. So depression stays away from me and I move forward always striving to ser the positive things in life. For there are always positives ahead, I need only go a bit further to find them.

  • I’m glad to hear you got 6 hours of sleep. We’re so alike in this. I used to fret about whether ignoring emotional pain is healthy or not. Over time, I’ve come to the conclusion it’s usually the best option we have at this point. Life is an inevitable threat to mental health. All we can do is our best to thrive regardless of the many wounds we acquire in the process.

    I try to prevent my pain from leaking onto others. I seem to process it slowly and intensely, but completely privately. I don’t have faith in psychology as a science, so I don’t get too attached to their conclusions (since it’s closer to a religion than science.) Based on my experiences over more than twenty years, it’s been more harmful than helpful, (but a lot is due to the color of my skin, unfortunately.)

    I accept I’m never going to experience being well rested again. Sleep will likely always be when my PTSD symptoms torture me for ignoring them as much as possible when I’m conscious. So far, I’m winning the battle to survive. I’m glad to know someone else fighting the good fight as well. 🙂

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