Earlier today I was writing some intense, navel-gazing foolishness about me, and all my complex inner workings, and how I had been feeling sad recently. (A lot of the reason why I haven’t been writing here much.)
A whole bunch of journal-appropriate venting about how I might seem one way, and be feeling another.
The drama.
That kind of writing never really works for me. Every time I try to explain about my own mental health, I just sort of graze over it. Fluff it up. Work around it. Never depressed. Maybe just “blue.” “Anxious,” not, “suffering from relentless anxiety.” Obviously, there are reasons for that, (who likes to admit to what is often perceived as weakness?) but I think that I’m ready to skip all of that crap for today.
Hence I’m scrapping most of what I wrote. Even some of the pretty words. No need to dance around how I feel or who I am. There’s also need for me to make myself out to be some kind of victim, or to feel sorry for myself because I am this extra-sensitive, squishy person on the inside. No need to play myself a tiny sonata on a teensy-tiny violin.
I’m not actually “crazy.” I may like to dance and sing and dye my hair green, and I may spontaneously decide that I ABSOLUTELY MUST LEARN HOW TO YODEL, but I’m not now, nor have I ever been “crazy” in the negative sense of that loaded word. I am firmly in this reality. I am not dangerous. I am non-violent. I am intelligent and loving and do not intend to do harm to myself or to anyone else.
But yeah, in case I haven’t made it clear, I know a little about anxiety and depression.
The world we live in, how our lives our designed, and the pace of life mean there are so many others like me; regular people who happen to be no stranger to inner darkness and self-doubt, or seem to have an over-active panic-button. If you don’t deal with those things, well, congratulations, because I hardly think they make me special. (Watch an all-news station for a while and try to keep yourself in a good mood! Attempt to attain a laundry list of societal check-boxes deemed necessary to make one ‘successful’ and stay relaxed!)
But it’s FRIDAY, and I really do feel fine, after all. I don’t really want to wallow, or sing a song about the darkness.
(Although I’d be happy to listen to something BY The Darkness…)
If you’re like me, I don’t think you should either. Plan to do something this weekend that gets your blood flowing and makes you happy. Don’t get lost in your own head. Find a reason to be grateful. Hug your cat. Phone a friend. Get distracted!
Let’s look up from our navels for a while.
-Jennnq
Critical Happiness 