How to Pull Out of a Slump:
It’s probably safe to say things are all fucked up in a lot of places. The world, the country, the state. My house, my head. Everybody has an opinion about what should happen to the world, the country, and the state. It also appears that at least one very vocal contingent has their feelings regarding my emotional well-being. Which is, admittedly, in the shitter. Here’s what I’m doing about it.
Dead Man Walking
I am treated by professionals-a team of them. I have accepted that I might have a shorter life expectancy because combined with an auto-immune disease my ridonkulous mental illness can cause life-killing heart disease, but motherhell. We’ve got a team of experts ON THE CASE. Until the credit limit on my cards is reached. Then I’m FUBAR.
- Get angry- turn around and spit, you’ll find a reason. Maybe more than one. Go ahead, breathe it in. Let the euphoria of a true emotion wash over you, energize you, and spur your exhausted mind & body into action. It’s OK if the only colors you can see at this moment are shades of red, or white, or whatever rage chooses to manifest itself in the landscape of your world. In a slump, I can’t see. I take showers in the hottest of the hottest water. I stand out in the rain. I watch progressively disturbing television, hoping to jump-start the freaky monochrome of my mind. And then I get mad. Anger lights the fire.
Fuck You. Yep. you. Just kidding. I love YOU.
- Clean House: How I started? I took everyfucking thing out of my bedroom. And put it all in the hallway. Some stuff went into the trash and a few things are still in the hall, but only EXACTLY what I wanted made it back into the bedroom. Hopefully, I will do this one room at a time, two rooms a week.
I am a shell of myself
- Get healthy: I quit sugar last week. I think. Again. At least, I quit white sugar, and candy. I started making green protein smoothies again with chia seeds in them. I shotgun one every morning while I’m making coffee. Because breakfast really is the most important meal of the day. But not if you’re fucking over your body and mind with what you put in it.
- Get active: We know that exercise increases endorphins and dopamine so I’m not even doin that link-bait. Some people choose acrobatic sex or olympic swimming or hiking. I’m still choosing to wish real hard that the treadmill room in my house were ever less than 87 degrees.Or-maaaaybe….fif the temperature is in the clothes stuck to your undertits sort of area, and the humidity is such that walking outside the house feels as if you’re stepping into a bowl of lukewarm jello….interpret active as ‘politically active’ and be fluid with the definition of active, and watch documentaries on Netflix while donating to relief efforts throughout the country.
Basically, the idea is the same. I’m just trying to get outside myself for a while. It works, unless the pictures are really, really sad. Things like that do NOT raise serotonin levels.
If you happen to find yourself at the bottom of a well papered with photos of molested children and Sudanese refugees and/or hurricane victims or [insert your nightmare here] I don’t know what to tell you. Except, I know some excellent Amarula recipes.
bottoms up
- Get involved in the details: I think every single religion, platitude and 12-step catch phrase is based on Zen. My favorite is “If you have one foot in yesterday, and one in tomorrow, you’re just pissing all over today”.That’s just the rolled in the dirt version of “chop wood, carry water”, and/or “be here now”. Whatever. What works for me is laundry. I can’t talk about this like I’m dispensing advice though, because I’m not doing it. Whenever living in the actual moment works for me though, angels come down from the heavens and pick me up on twizzler pillows. Every moment is razor-sharp and intense, so much feeling! Did you even KNOW how many different sensations you could feel while making a sandwich? A lot.My hamster brain: it’s not in yesterday or tomorrow, but it’s here along with several other versions of my brain. Chatter, chatter, chatter. Here’s a place to go to read about chop wood carry water.
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Get creative: If I’ve done any or all or a few of the above things in a week or a day or at all in the recent past, then I’m probably OK to cook or write or plant some flowers. Building something, anything-makes me feel like I’m part of the right now world, part of the narrative. For a few moments, I’m a part of the pretty picture of the world where everyone else lives all the time, in hipstamatic Technicolor.
This is the Holy Mother of slumps. I know a lot about mental illness, diet, inflammation, auto-immune diseases + mental health, brain chemistry, and scads of other real and scientifically valid and well documented causes for this onslaught of nothingness, for this months long Pleasantville experience that has become my life. Only without the smiles and William H Macy. This-this, DESATURATION of the Story of Summer, if you will.
I can explain this slump, or not.
But, why? Or, we could just know it’s what it is: a lot of life happened all at once, as does every day to many people.
Even when strongly and correctly medicated, some bitches can be knocked completely the fuck offline by life events. Stressful shit turns into real stressful shit turns into 12 hour marathons of USA Network TV because wtf, IRL? WHAT THE HELL.
To be sure, I’m a first world bitch with my first world brain chemistry problem and my little family issues and my inexplicably resilient children and my child-turned-statistic (which really? Join the club, right?) and do not think I am not painfully, EVERSO painfully aware of this fact (see: superfuckingsad link above) every day that I write more about this rollercoaster.
However, we are there, us freaky silent crazy bitches. We can talk too, and this is how I to get my concreted ass off the ground when I’m stuck to it.
Yeah. That’s right. I didn’t mention quit drinking. Because fuck that. I’m not your sponsor. You’re not mine.
