Wednesday, July 27, 2016
The only barred rock I have left.
Here's the worst thing about anxiety and depression- everything in the world points to the fact that when you're suffering, that if you just got off your fucking ass and did something you'd be fucking fine. Therefore, you must like to be anxious and depressed.
And even if the "world" doesn't say that, you do. Your mind does. And then it beats the crap out of you because you're not getting off your fucking ass and doing something.
Even if you ARE getting off your fucking ass and doing something, your mind tells you that you're not doing the right things and you should be feeding the homeless and cleaning your own house and painting and changing your environment and doing yoga and meditating and finding meaning in all of it and getting over your own damn self.
So. Okay. You know what it's like when you wake up at two or three or four in the morning and you can't sleep and your brain just keeps spinning on and on about all of your inadequacies and your sins and mistakes and your complete and utter failure at everything you've ever done in your life?
Have you ever experienced that?
Well. Being anxious and depressed is like that, except ALL THE TIME, TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY. And you could have the entire Supreme Court sitting in front of you along with the Dalai Lama and Jimmy Carter and everyone you love and sweet baby Jesus himself and they could be telling you that no, you are a fine individual and everything is fine and none of it matters anyway, that we're not even equal to a dust mote in the cosmic galaxy of the universe, no more important that a molecule of a cat poop in the giant litter box of life and you'd still feel like somehow, some way, you are the most worthless individual on this and any other planet and goddam- have you looked at the mold on your door frames? and look at Hilary Clinton- she ain't sitting around crying over her losses, she's just become the first woman ever nominated as president of the United States of America and look at Mother Teresa, okay, don't, she was weird. But still.
And look at yourself, your crazy brain says- here you are, a rich (by most standards in the world) white woman in a first world country who has everything that anyone could ever want, in fact, anything that YOU could ever want and you're weeping over door frame mold and friends who have been dead for 22 years and if the fucking mold is bothering you that much, go wash it off. Plus, everyone dies.
So. Okay. Moving on.
I am getting off my ass now. I've been trying off and on all morning to get the cloth parts off of two infant bouncy seats in order to wash them so that I can donate the seats to a local teen drop-in center for a big baby shower they're having for teen mamas and I can't even figure out how to do that and I know I've done it before and there you are.
Add that to the big pile of shit I can't manage.
I can't do.
I'm incapable of.
I'm too stupid to figure out.
It's all so ridiculous.
As am I.