I used to describe my depression as a bad carnival ride I could not get off — not because there wasn’t an exit, but because I was too ashamed for boarding in the first place to call out for help.
My personal journey through the pandemic thus far feels like a roller coaster. But it doesn’t matter if I was feeling brave and got on or woke up in a nightmare strapped to the seat. It doesn’t matter if I feel ashamed or not because everyone I’d call out to stop the ride is stuck in their own cart, on their own track.
But some days it’s good. Like Monday, where I had an energizing run, working in the sun all morning, and was good, really good, for the rest of the day. I made my own tacos. Look at all that mindset work and routine paying the hell off. But then by Tuesday afternoon, I’m starting to feel empty, emptier, lonely, lonelier and a few glasses of whiskey don’t fill me up.
And then today, having trouble shaking the low until a good meeting midday and I am up and then I’m dropped and exhausted by the end of the day and I think, while I walk (routine, routine, routine) that this being okay, that I am trying so hard to be, is taking an inordinate amount of energy. But I know my alternatives and write off everyone.
So it’s a roller coaster, Up and down and twisting and I can’t see any of the track ahead. Sometimes it stops and I can’t tell if I’m safe on flatways or teetering on some peek. Then I read the news and wonder if I’m really strapped in at all and maybe on the wrong bump I’ll just (we’ll just) fall out completely.
Breathe, remember my mantra the best I can: I am brave. I show up. I move forward.
And sometimes I eat too my chips with queso because, uffda, I’d rather go to bed then go to a carnival right now.
With Love,
Natalie