My Chicken or Egg Life

Well, hello there! Welcome to 2015, everyone. I guess we're living in the future now. Forgive me for jumping right in, but after a 16 month blog break there seemed like no better way to begin again other than to, you know...Begin. Again.

I was tired. Tired of talking about myself, mostly. Tired of going around in circles in my life and not getting anywhere. Most of this came from the fact that, during the late summer and early fall of 2013, when I last wrote on this blog, I was trying REALLY HARD to figure myself out. I'd been physically sick for years and spent the end of 2013 going to a slew of doctors who found nothing wrong with me. I'd struggled with various levels of depression for even longer, and was seeing a regular therapist, a psychiatrist and a sex therapist at the same time.

It was too much. Too much me. Too much of my problems going around in my head all the live long day and night. The kicker? All that talking and commiserating and worrying and taking anti-depressants and spending money I didn't really have to try to get help...But nothing changed. I didn't feel significantly better. Sure, I'd stopped crying so much, but I did not feel hopeful or have any renewed interest in life. So, I stopped.

Stopped taking the meds. Stopped writing about myself all the time. Stopped going to all the therapists and stopped making appointments for any new doctors to poke around my troubled tummy. All my issues have stuck with me for the past 16 months, but I just needed a break from trying SO hard to figure myself out.

-Why do I lack drive?
-Why am I afraid of everything?
-Why am I so awkward socially?
-Why can't I lose weight and keep it off?
-Why do so many things bore me so quickly?
-Why can't I be more like Beyonce?

The list of personal quandaries feels endless. From the time I was in college the answer felt sort of simple: Um, you're depressed, you dummy! Stop being depressed and you'll finally be normal! Lord knows I tried, for decades, to shut the depression down with medication and therapy and blogging and gratitude lists and an embarrassingly long reading list of self-help books. It would ebb and flow; lessen and increase. But never go away. Never ever go ALL THE WAY AWAY.

For the most part I spent my non-blogging, no-longer-in-therapy time as I had before: doing the bare minimum to survive and get through my days without bursting into tears. Going through the motions, not really enjoying life or being a participant in life or getting much out of it at all.

Then November 2014 came around. It was just two weeks after my cousin died suddenly in his sleep from a heart attack. He was 40, born in April 1974, and I was about to be 40 in just three weeks. Not that I didn't know I could die at any minute, I did and always had known that, since I was never one of those daring, thrill-seeking youngsters. But now, after losing my cousin, it was a super real possibility. What if I actually didn't have tomorrow to get off my ass and get something, anything, accomplished?

The first thing I did was something I'd been saying I was going to do for a few years but never did: I signed up for NANOWRIMO 2014. And, I finished. I wrote a 51,716 word novel. That has now tied with traveling alone to three film festivals in three cities I'd never been in before as my most cherished accomplishment.

After coming down off the high of reaching a personal goal, I spent my holidays doing a lot of thinking, and something occurred to me. Maybe the depression wasn't causing my lack of drive. Maybe my lack of drive and reluctance to step out of my comfort zone, no matter how uncomfortable it had become, was keeping me depressed. And, just like the chicken or egg scenario we're all familiar with, my depression and fear fed each other in an endless cycle that felt impossible to break down. I was 40. I'd spent roughly 20 years of my precious life mired in the fear of the new to the point that I'd made myself a tad bit OCD and agoraphobic.

I'd tried talking my depression away and medicating it away, but the only thing I hadn't tried for any significant length of time was simply doing the things I'd always wanted to do even if I was scared.

So, that's what I'm doing now. I wrote a book that I'll be re-reading and editing starting this week. For the past month I've been walking four miles on most days, even when it bores me and my hips hurt. I'm breaking down my wants and needs into small actions and fucking getting them done.

I'm going to stop giving up on myself, because I'm the only damn person who can make the next 40+ years mean anything.

How are you making your life more meaningful in 2015?

Happy Friday: 7 Things I'm Bad At That Don't Matter

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I had a semi-crappy week. As such, I need to remind myself that I'm not actually bad at everything, it just seems that way sometimes. Also, not all of the things I'm bad at are life-destroying. Here's my list of stuff I suck at that doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

7 Things I'm Bad At That Don't Matter

1) Brushing my teeth. Of course I'm good at brushing my teeth, technically. I'm just really, really messy at it. The toothpaste foam that forms dribbles down my chin and usually lands on my shirt. I often walk around while I brush and frequently find dried toothpaste spray around the house on mirrors, TVs, counters, tables, walls...You get it. Messy!

2) Reading books/magazines. I subscribe to seven magazines. Most of them sit in un-presentable stacks around the house for WAY longer than a month. I also have a book buying sickness, which I think I've finally kicked, but it's lead me to having a house filled with tomes I've owned for a few years but haven't even cracked the spines on.

3) Checking emails. I have three email accounts: one for family/friends and serious personal business, one for applying for jobs and one for entering contests and other crap. I can go a few days without checking any of them. Then I end up with 700 unread emails and freak the fuck out, do better for a bit and then fall behind again. Oh, well. No one's dying from this one.

4) Skipping dessert. Only happens if I'm sick or so full I might get sick if I inhale one more might. As far as vices go? Not horrible.

5) Waking up early. I fucking hate it. End. Of. Story.

6) Fixing my hair. I have no appreciable skills in this area. I would much rather wear a scarf or hat all day, every day. So, I frequently do.

7) Drinking hooch. One drink and I'm done. And it better basically taste like Kool-Aid, or I'm out. I didn't even start to get a taste for sugary, pansy-assed mixed drinks until about 12 years after I turned 21. I've never been drunk and likely never will be. I can go for several months without having any kind of booze, and I'm totally OK with that.

There's my list. Now? Internet!

1) X-Men Muppets? Yes!

2) Age, dammit! AGE!

3) People who do amazing things only have one different trait from those who don't. Simple as that.

4) Caffrey the cat only has two legs. I love him.

5) This is just fun. Also, it involves cats, so, you know, there's my wheelhouse!

That's all for me. Let me know, what are you bad at that doesn't matter?

Fear Itself

He's fearless.

This morning I was reading a job search article which noted some advice from the author of a book called Be Fearless.

Write out a list of all the skills and qualities that got you to where you are. Own them!

I shuddered a bit. He meant, of course, to give readers a way to shore themselves up so they could face future challenges. But, I couldn't help but see it differently.

What skills and qualities have gotten me to a point where I'm unhappy with my career, social life, finances and personal development?

You noticed, I hope, that those are some major life areas. Almost all of them, in fact. It's not good. For every step forward I feel myself sliding backward into an abyss of my own making. The key for me is always fear. It's played a major role in every decision and non-decision of my teen and adult life.

The question, as always, is how do I fight it? How, without the therapy and drugs I can't afford anyway, do I stare fear down and tell it to fuck off?

We know what Nike has been telling us for decades, but when you're racked with anxiety it's hard to even consider beginning something that freaks you out. I'm clearly more afraid of change than I am of dying with things staying the same. Why? Why do I allow it to have such a hold over my life?

Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe I need to let go of my analytical crutch and just Do My Opposite. Say hello to that cool looking person in Panera. Make that cold call. Introduce myself via email to that author. Research that idea. Face the blank page and start writing that story down. Send that script off to agents. Go left when I'd usually go right. Say yes when I would normally say no for no good reason.

Today I'm going to begin to consciously Do My Opposite. Because, this isn't good enough.

How do you become fearless in life?

A Nice Thought

Amen, sister! Though, I must say, it seems easier to revel in your imperfection when people can look at some version of you and your life where no imperfection appears to exist.

Does that make sense to everyone, or just me?