I watched Sisters again. That movie is so funny. It wasn’t as crude as Bridesmaids, but just as hilarious. I loved the cast. Samantha Bee is in it, too. Tina Fey and Amy Poehler portray generation x so honestly. They do shit you did when you didn’t think anyone was watching. My face hurt from smiling and laughing so much. It’s absolutely going into my depression box. I’ve been having a great time on the staycation end of my vacation. I’ve also been sleeping since I got back from Denver. Regular, nightmare free, sleep. Each time I awaken, I sit there for a moment and bask in the wonderful feeling of being well rested.
This feels like my default. My garrison. This is the “me” that I strive for when I’m struggling. I’m normally pretty happy. Somewhere between the giddiness just before delivering the punchline, and on the verge of laughing. I’m aware of my surroundings, but they’re muted enough to ignore effortlessly. I feel creative urges, bordering on compulsions. If I engage in any activity surrounding my interests, I begin to hyperfocus almost immediately. I’ve been rocking and pacing a lot, but not like a drone. While I’m stimming, I’m also brainstorming. I either brainstorm about algorithms, or I brainstorm about creating something. Like a poem, song, digital painting, or short story.
What I love the most about my default, is that it’s me at my almost best. It’s like running at 80% speed in progressive intervals. It trains you to push your 100% effort for longer. It builds me up. It’s awesome. I’m loving my time here. I know it’s temporary. Sometimes, I push myself to my 100% best in order to achieve a goal I’ve set for myself. I don’t do this very often. I try to make it really count, when I do, though. I’d rather get 3rd place most often, and go for 1st place when it matters most to me. It’s a lot like a self esteem exercise you’d get in therapy. Identify what you really want, then go after it with everything you have. Put the mission first at all times to avoid getting distracted.
Eventually, the Depression Monster will come to call again. Anxiety likes to try and make me her bitch on a daily basis, but I’ve gotten pretty good at keeping her in check. Running is my best weapon against both. Swimming is an alternative. It’s probably better in that it makes my body strong all over. Running requires additional exercises to prevent injury. But it’s the most flexible. After that, all I really have is distraction. I have a depression box full of activities I normally enjoy. I have a canister I decorated, and filled with small papers with activities written on them. I draw one out, and just do it. I have a sign on the wall next to the shelf with my depression box that says, “Just Do It”. It’s a Nike ad, but it works for me. If you insert, “just do it”, as a rebuttal to every argument with yourself as to why you can’t do something, it works every time.
Here’s a little something no one tells you about depression: It makes you dumb. You’re just so distracted by the chemical warfare going on in your brain that you can only focus on clear, short commands. You don’t want to do them, but you can if you push yourself. It’s incredible, the amount of effort it takes to do one simple task, when depressed. So when you push through, and do it anyway, you just kicked the Depression Monster in his junk. Each time you push a little further, you deliver him another blow. But he’s a trickster. Don’t fall for it when he tries to make a truce. He’s really trying to trap you into accepting meh as good enough. It’s not. Meh sucks. Meh is a depressed stupor in which you can function, but can never quite remember why you bother. Fuck meh. Aim for your default. Your place where you feel most like yourself. The depressed you is an imposter.
I know some people hate it when others claim it’s possible to fight depression with sheer will. All I can state is that it’s possible for me to do so. I have PTSD, and depression is a major part of it for me. I have never experienced the depression of someone else, for obvious reasons. In many cases, there are commonalities among those with the diagnosis, and this allows us to share what methods in fighting it prove successful. Often, they are helpful to many people. But I acknowledge the fact that there are exceptions, and I don’t want to imply that what works for me will work for everyone.
The more time I spend learning about diversity among humans, the more I recognize the mistakes I’ve made in the past. I regret them, and am learning new ways to be respectful to other humans. While I personally have a no malice, no foul policy, I don’t assume others do. I don’t want to hurt anyone without realizing it. It sucks ass when someone is insensitive to you for a reason you have no control over. It hurts. I can cope with it, but I can’t assume everyone else can as well. So I’m interested in learning ways to avoid it.
One thing I want to note to other Autistics and similar who try weed, is that you should remember to stretch before going to sleep. Our proclivity for remaining in the same position for a good bit of time is magnified by weed. I sat at a 45% angle for no apparent reason at some point, and didn’t move until my abdominal muscle spasmed. The next day, I was so sore. Mostly my neck, shoulders, and stomach muscles. But my joints were sore, too. I sit on my legs, and don’t move for a long time when doing activities. They go to sleep, and then pain settles into my joints. Most people move when they fall asleep. Weed messes with your ability to communicate with your body a little. Nothing frightening, just a heads up for when you wake up a little sore. It’s so worth it.